


What Doesn't Kill Us

by Axolotl



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Desert Island, Disasters, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Panic Attacks, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axolotl/pseuds/Axolotl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin always knew his bad luck would probably be the end of him.  He just never expected it to be the end of his two best friends, too.<br/>As they sat on the sand looking out at the endless expanse of ocean, he couldn't help but blame himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write this forever, and I really hope I can pull through and actually update this one on a semi-regular basis.  
> Based very loosely on an old roleplay with Chairoscuro. Check her out, though!  
> GERTI CRASHES INTO THE OCEAN WHAT A DISASTER YAY! \o/

There’s always a recurring theme among accounts from disaster victims: Out-of-body experiences, slow motion crashes, blacking out. Your body acts before asking your brain permission, space and time seem to slow to give you time to react, your mind shuts down temporarily so your body can focus on surviving. And that’s how it happened. 

There should have been fear, and there was, god there was, but it wasn’t crippling and paralyzing like Martin would have imagined. No, for all the times Martin had frozen up in the face of stress, this was not one of them.

There were black outs, gaps in his memory, but there were things he remembered:

He remembered the blinking warning light making him anxious, and he remembered bickering with Douglas about it. ( _“Martin, we are practically across the Atlantic. These lights are constantly crying wolf. If we divert now, Carolyn will want both our heads; Yours for being a paranoid dolt, and mine for letting you.”_ ) Martin was firm, said something about command decisions, and tried to contact ATC to request a landing. 

And that’s when things started going wrong.

No reply from Miami International. Martin tried three times before even Douglas began to look anxious and suggested trying another airport. Nothing from Cuba.

Another blipping warning light: Failure with navigational equipment. Martin exchanged a glance with Douglas, whose jaw was set and expression suddenly very sober.

Martin felt distanced from the situation after that, watching himself work and hearing himself give commands in a tone that only betrayed a fraction of his worry. Douglas willingly obeyed, confirmed each order as he was given it, called Martin Captain, and had the situation been less terrifying Martin may have felt some pride. But this was not the time to feel anything.

Another flash of red: Engine failure.

After that, Martin could only remember bits and pieces. Flashes of memory, played out in slow motion: Calling Arthur over the intercom, instructing him to prepare for emergency landing; The ocean growing closer; Land off in the horizon; Lurching forward as water enveloped them.

Douglas’ unconscious face stood out more vividly than any image in Martin’s mind, however.

Planes were made to float a bit longer than this in water, but GERT-I was never the safest aircraft in the skies. Or seas.

Why was Douglas’ buckle so difficult, why now, _why?_

Dragging a limp body toward the giant yellow mass above. Breaking the surface. Air.

Arthur yelling something, voice frantic and cracked, and dragging them both into the raft.

Blackness.


	2. The First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Douglas is stressed and cranky.

“Skip? Skip!”

Martin spluttered and coughed, his lungs hungry for air as he came to. For the briefest moment, he forgot where he was, but as he stared up at the panicked steward above him, it didn’t take long to remember. Shakily, he sat up, feeling his own panic setting in.

“W-What happened??”

“We crashed!”

“No, I—W-We were sinking—“

“I, um…” Arthur’s voice was an octave higher than usual as he wrung his hands anxiously. “I’m sorry, Skip, I-I just—I grabbed a life raft but I can’t inflate it in the plane, you know, so I—“

“You opened the door…” Martin finished for him, coughing up more sea water. “And… Oh, god, Douglas!”

The captain and steward crowded around their unconscious first officer, the raft swaying as they shifted. The two held their breath while Martin checked for vital signs, and as if on cue, Douglas began sputtering up seawater.

“Douglas!” Arthur all but squealed. “Thank goodness!”

Douglas winced and let out a pained groan. “God…”

“D-Don’t move! What hurts?” Martin eyed him up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Bloody… everything,” Douglas grit out. “But if I had to pick one spot… God, my leg…”

“Alright, well j-just stay down and—“

But Douglas was already attempting to sit up, wincing around in confusion. “What are we—Oh…” His eyes widened as they landed on the tail end of GERT-I, pointing up out from the waves. His usual smooth tone grew shaky. “Ohh Christ…”

“Just lie back now.”

“ _Christ,_ Martin…” Douglas was gently pushed back down by his coworkers.

“I-It’s alright, Douglas, we all made it out!” Arthur tried to sooth. “I mean, the cargo’s a bit… wet now, but…”

“How is any part of this situation _alright??_ ”

“Okay, alright, listen!” Martin ran a shaky hand through his sopping ginger curls. “We… We’re not that far from land, look! There’ll b-be people there, a-and we can get some help.”

“Brilliant! Good thinking, Skip!”

“Oh my god,” was all Douglas had to say as he ran his hands over his face.

“You lie back, Douglas. Arthur, help me, um… move this thing.” He looked around, unsure of how they were going to get their raft closer to the land they saw off in the distance. Arthur tried helping, as he usually did, leaning over the side of the raft and attempting to paddle with his hands. Martin found a hunk of metal from the wreck and began rowing with it. 

They moved at a snail’s pace. Wave upon wave beat their raft back and forth, pushing it out one meter for every two it made. Martin almost doubted they were making progress at all at one point, but after a time they made it close enough for Arthur and Martin to get out and wade in the water, tugging the raft along with them to shore.

“Come on, Douglas, I’ll help you—“ Martin offered, but Douglas waved him off as he sat up.

“I’m not an invalid,” the first officer sneered, but despite his tone, he looked quite shaken. They all were. Douglas made to stand, but immediately grimaced in pain when weight was put on his right leg. He let Martin pull him up, and used the shorter man to help support his weight as they waded through the shallow waves to sit on the shore.

“Chaps, I know this is a bit of a not-brilliant situation, but… Wow!” Arthur exclaimed, looking around the sandy shore in amazement. “It’s just like a movie, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not like a movie, Arthur, it’s a very serious real world thing that is happening. Please take it seriously.” Martin pulled off his still-soaking jacket.

“Right, Skip, I know. Sorry.” The steward looked back out at the ocean. The sun was getting a bit low in the sky, the first hint of a blush touching the clouds and marking the beginning of sunset. Arthur’s eyes landed on the tail of the old plane out in the distance, and what glee was on his face faded. “Poor Gertie…”

“We’ll have time to mourn her later. Right now…” Martin looked around at the beach. If there were people on this island, they didn’t seem to use this shore. “… Right. I think… The sun is going to be setting soon, I-I don’t think we have enough time to go looking for people. We should start setting up a shelter.”

“Good thinking, Skip! And a fire! I’ll get some wood!”

“ _Set up a shelter?_ Martin, you can’t be serious!” Douglas looked appalled. “We need to go get help, not play _Survivor!_ ”

“Douglas, it would be much safer to wait until tomorrow. Besides, you can’t move anywhere, and I don’t want to leave you alone here.”

“Martin, I—“

“I am making a command decision!” Martin’s voice shook slightly. He felt his heart pounding as he attempted to block out the oncoming panic he felt looming over him. “We don’t know how big this island is, or how far away we are from civilization! We’re staying here for the night! Now… Arthur, go find some wood a-and tinder or something, and give it to Douglas. Douglas, set up a fire when he comes back.”

Douglas stared furiously out at the horizon, gritting his teeth. His voice was deadly calm. “… Yes, _Captain._ ”

As it turned out, shelters weren’t as easy to make as they seemed on the television. Arthur attempted to get creative, which only resulted in him falling out of a tree and their first attempt at a stick-and-leaf-tent design collapsing. Eventually, they managed to make a rough shelter over their still-inflated raft. By that time, Douglas had managed to make a small fire pit a couple yards away. He stared into it broodingly, practically pouting. His hands felt raw from rubbing the stick he used to start the fire.

“This is a bit exciting, isn’t it?” Arthur lay on his back on the sand, watching the sky above darken. “Bit like camping. Only sadder, I suppose… But still exciting.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Douglas muttered.

Martin stared out at the ruins of Gertie. Her tail end still reached out of the water at an angle, silhouetted by the setting sun. He’d felt panic before, but now he just felt… empty. There was so much uncertainty, so many unpleasant questions he’d tried not to ask himself for the past few hours, but now he couldn’t even bother to wonder if they would be saved soon, or what Carolyn would say to him about crashing her one and only plane, or how he’d find work with MJN gone. He just felt empty and lost.

A low rumble was heard from the other side of the fire pit.

“Oh, gosh, sorry chaps. I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

“Yes, food and water are things we should probably start thinking about now that we’re castaways. And since our esteemed commander has elected to keep us here, perhaps he’d like to explain how we’re going to eat.”

“Well we got plenty of water, Douglas!” Arthur tried to contribute.

“While technically correct, Arthur, I’m afraid sea water is not our best option.”

Martin closed his eyes, the afterimage of the sun and plane’s silhouette burning red behind his eyelids. “I’m sorry, Arthur, you’ll have to go without. It’s just for tonight.”

“Are you alright, Skip?”

“Fine. Um... I think I might turn in early.”

“Oh, good idea! Actually, I might join you. Maybe sleep will help me forget about being hungry. And the sooner we get up the sooner we can look for help.” Arthur stood, patting the sand off his bum.

“Douglas?” Martin asked the first officer wearily.

“… Think I might stay out here tonight. That thing looks like it’ll cave in any moment.” The first officer shrugged toward their rudimentary shelter.

“Fine…”

Douglas watched the fire before him burn with soft cracks and pops while Arthur hopped off to bed. He started a bit when he felt something being draped over his shoulders.

“It’ll get cold.” He looked down to see the four stripes on the sleeve of Martin’s jacket, which had spent the last few hours drying on a branch but still smelled of brine.

Douglas huffed softly in reply, and listened to his captain’s retreating footsteps.


	3. Fruitless Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Arthur go looking for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still going unbeta'd but I figure i owe you guys a chapter so you don't think I forgot. I feel like this chapter might have been a bit boring, so I'll try and make the next one more interesting.

Arthur was the only one to get any decent sleep that night, if the snoring was anything to go by. Douglas had laid himself on the sand. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but it couldn’t be worse than squeezing into that tiny stick abomination with two other grown men. Sure, sand had a way of finding unpleasant of places to hide, but he would manage. 

His captain’s jacket covered his torso but barely helped him retain any warmth. Between the shivering, backaches, constant throbbing of his leg, and unsettling feeling of helplessness he was beginning to feel as he contemplated his situation, sleep only reached him in the very early hours of dawn when he was too exhausted to do anything else. He was all too grateful, too. His thoughts had begun to grow darker and darker as he lay alone with only the soft rumble of Arthur’s snoring to ground him.

But just as he slipped into a dreamless slumber, he was brought out of it by a hand on his shoulder. It was gentle, but Douglas started as if someone had dumped cold water on him.

“Oh—Just me, sorry…” Martin flinched from him. Douglas groaned, his face twisting in displeasure. “Thought I’d check up on you before I woke Arthur.”

“I was _just_ getting to sleep, Martin,” Douglas grumbled.

“Didn’t sleep either, hm?”

The first officer gave Arthur’s sleeping form – whose snores had grown to such a volume they scared off flocks of birds – a half-hearted glare, too tired to think of a witty reply.

“How’s the leg? Can I…?” Martin gestured toward Douglas’ injured limb. The older man waved his hand permissively.

“Still throbbing, but I don’t think it’s—“ He let out a hiss. Martin tried to gently lift the trouser leg, but failed at being very gentle at all. “… Broken.”

“Sorry, sorry…” The captain apologized again. There was a fair bit of blood caked onto the skin, but most of it was from various small cuts. They didn’t look serious. Douglas’ ankle was swollen, however, and Martin hissed sympathetically.

“We should have taken care of this last night, I’m sorry…”

“Martin, if you apologize one more time…” Douglas rubbed his forehead, eyes screwed shut.

“Sor--… Right.”

The sound of ripping cloth made Douglas look up. Martin had hooked his fingers into a rip near the bottom his own shirt and pulled, tearing off a long strip. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to wrap it,” the captain replied. “It’s probably just a sprain, but it needs tending.” 

Douglas hissed again in pain as his captain tried to wrap his ankle.

“Do you have any clue what you’re doing??”

“Quit fussing, I’ve done this before—“

“You wouldn’t know it, with the way you’re going about it! Are you trying to wrap my foot or strangle it?”

“Right, fine. You do it then.”

“There’s not nearly enough here.”

“Fine! Take the whole bloody shirt!”

“Oh, put your shirt back on—!“

“Chaps?” Their steward yawned as he crawled out of the hut, blinking at the commotion. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” Martin huffed, buttoning his shirt back up. “Douglas is just acting like a child.”

“I am defending myself against your captain, who seems intent on amputating my foot with his shirt!”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t mean to amputate your foot, Douglas!” Arthur stood and stretched. His stomach gave a growl. “Oh—Sorry about that!”

Douglas took the cloth Martin had tried wrapping around his ankle and balled it up. “I think perhaps you and Gilligan over there should go on your little people hunt. Or else find some food before he wastes away.”

Martin’s anger seemed to fade into concern. “I—I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you here…”

“Well, I can’t exactly keep up with you like this, and if either of you go alone you’d be lost before you left sight of camp.” Douglas looked between the two men skeptically. “In fact, you might want to stick to the coast. Just to be safe. Anyone who lives here is bound to live by the ocean anyway. Where else would anyone live on an island?”

Martin hesitated a moment, but nodded. “… Right. Alright—Arthur? We’re going to look for help.”

“Right-o, Skip! Where to?” Arthur trotted over.

“Um… That way.” He pointed down the beach. “We’ll head in that direction for a while. If we don’t find anything by midday, we head back, and try the other direction tomorrow.” Martin looked back at his copilot, worry etched on his face. “You, um… Stay in the shade. And stay out of trouble.”

“Aye-aye, Skipper.” Douglas gave a sarcastic salute. “I’m not sure how I’ll fare without you to protect me, but I’ll try not to get kidnapped by a tribe of cannibals while you’re away.”

*****

“Wow, it’s really like an adventure, isn’t it, Skip?” Arthur practically pranced down the beach, even after they’d gotten a few miles along. The shore had zigged and zagged around the odd shape of the island, and they couldn’t see the camp anymore.

Martin sighed and rubbed his forehead as the sun blazed down on the both of them. Already his skin was growing red on his exposed arms and neck. He could only imagine the blisters he’s be suffering with later. 

Seeing Arthur so giddy, he thought about chastising the steward about the seriousness of their situation again, but stopped himself short of saying anything. This whole island business was miserable, whether they found help or not (though considerably more so if they didn’t), and who was he to take the silver lining out of Arthur’s cloud? “Suppose so…”

“I hope we find help soon, though… I really am famished!”

Looking up, Martin noticed Arthur swaying a bit more than usual, in a way that perhaps wasn’t just from his joyful waltzing about. He also noticed his own throat was rather dry.

“Oh wow, look Skip! Coconuts!”

Martin’s gaze shot up to where Arthur had been pointing. There were some very tropical-looking trees a few meters in front of them, perfectly ordinary compared to the surrounding foliage, except that they bore strange brown fruit. It didn’t look like a coconut, though. The tree was far too low to the ground, and the fruits looked strange. Besides, weren’t coconuts on the tree supposed to be green?

“A-Arthur, wait! We don’t know if that’s safe!” Martin followed the steward, who was eagerly dashing off to collect the fruit.

Arthur plucked one off and gave it a squeeze. It had a strange, leathery texture to it, and was far less hard than a coconut. “It looks fine, Skip! It wouldn’t hurt to bring a few along with us, anyway.”

The sunburnt captain hesitated a moment, considering the strange plant. “… Alright, but don’t eat any until we’ve found out whether it’s poisonous or not!”

“Brilliant!” Arthur removed his torn vest and immediately began plucking fruit off the trees’ lower branches.

*****

When the pair had left, Douglas had felt a brief moment of relief, before Arthur’s cheerful voice began to fade and the sheer aloneness the first officer felt slowly began to crush him. Douglas Richardson was a social creature—He thrived off the attention of others, when it suited him. But now, here, with only the constant sound of waves to keep him company, he found the loneliness almost suffocating.

He told himself it was silly, and he wasn’t _that_ alone. Martin and Arthur would be back, and they’d bring help. He’d have the whole day to relax without anyone to bother him, with the added perk of being injured and therefore not being expecting to do anything productive.

But a strange uneasiness was growing in his chest as he looked off at the ocean, at the wreckage of Gertie still looming off in the distance. MJN was gone. Knowing his luck, he’d find a new job to get him by. He wasn’t far off from retirement anyway. He’d get back home, be able to bask in the attention from the media as he gave interviews on his tales of heroism (conveniently leaving out that he had been able to do little else but sit on his bottom the entire time their crew was stranded). He’d soak up the limelight for a short while, then resume normal life. 

So why was he so bothered?

 _‘If we don’t get home’_ was a thought that kept circling round his head like a buzzing mosquito. He mentally swatted it away only to have it return. He couldn’t rid himself of the thought quickly enough before it brought with it images of his daughters’ faces and his comfortable flat and that lovely stewardess from Swiss Air whose number he’d managed to get ( _I’ve still got it_ ) and had rather been looking forward to seeing again. And as he sat staring off at Gertie’s exposed tail, he vaguely noticed his breath coming shorter and heavier. A dull ache was forming in his chest. 

His confidence was fading. That happened occasionally, though rarely, and it was extremely uncomfortable.

He needed to pace, to do _something_ to lessen the jittery uneasiness he felt, to stand and feel a bit less useless. Looking around, he found a pile of branches his coworkers had discarded while making their rustic accommodations, and he conveniently found one the right shape and length (once snapped in half) to wedge under his arm. A makeshift crutch. Not comfortable, but practical. He stood, feeling the smallest bit of accomplishment, but it wasn’t enough to fight off the growing anxiety in his chest.

It was nearly midday. Martin and Arthur would be heading back soon, possibly with help. Hopefully. Probably. _Definitely._

Possibly.

Douglas could deal with situations of uncertainty, but not when there was absolutely sod all he could do about it.

Just as he’d made his third slow lap around the campsite, though, he heard a noise up shore to the north. His head whipped around, staring with wide eyes. That side of the shore had a number of large, worn boulders, and he couldn’t see what was coming, but he heard voices.

Martin and Arthur had headed south.

His heart raced a mile a minute as he limped toward the approaching voices. They were muffled by the sound of waves breaking on the sand, but had he heard a familiar accent?

_Oh, and they’re English!_

Luck was always very fond of Douglas Richardson, and it seemed to move mountains to do him favors.

“Hey!”

He let out a giddy, mad laugh, blind to the pain in his ankle, and called out to the voices. He yelled incoherently in his excitement. Footsteps grew faster and louder, coming to investigate.

“Here--!!” 

Douglas froze in his tracks. His wild grin stayed a moment as his brain processed the shock of red hair coming up over the pile of rocks. Then his expression twisted just slightly, completely changing from giddy to pained and shocked.

Martin looked equally unhappy to see him. The first officer saw the light of hope leave his eyes as they stared at each other.

“Douglas?”

“Oh! Hello, Douglas!” Arthur appeared, arms full with something bundled in his vest. “How’d you get there? We thought you were help!”

“Oh god…” The first officer covered his face with a hand. “Oh god, Jesus _fuck,_ Christ—“

“Douglas—“

“HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE YOU WENT AROUND THE ENTIRE BLOODY ISLAND!?” he bellowed.

“It’s alright, Douglas, we found food!” Arthur tried to calm the pilot with his pile of strange fruit, but Douglas didn’t even notice it in his state. 

Martin still looked shaken at the realization that they’d gone all the way around the shore without seeing even a trace of human life, but nothing like Douglas. Perhaps it was from years of expecting the worst to happen, and learning to mentally prepare for it. 

“Doug—Douglas, c-calm down, listen—!” He followed after his copilot. Douglas limped away from them. The FO looked pale and hysterical, and Martin had never seen him like this. People, they couldn’t find right now. He couldn’t do anything about that, and he’d have to worry about it later. Right now, his friend needed help, and in the absence of anyone more suited to the job, his captain had to make an effort.

“Oh god, oh Christ, we’re dead, I’m dead!” Douglas began to babble and did his best at making a run for it, which only ended in him toppling over and crying out in agony. Arthur and Martin were at his side at once. “Get away from me!”

“Douglas…” Arthur looked at a loss.

“Douglas, listen to me, listen, breathe. Breathe.”

But already the first officer was losing control of his breathing. He gasped for air like a drowning man and clutched at his chest. His vision began to swim, and his head was light. He was still babbling. 

“We—You—What do we—Oh god, oh god, Mar—“

Hands were on his shoulders. “Don’t touch me!” He gasped weakly, but he didn’t have the energy to fight. The hands retracted.

“Look at me.” Martin tried to keep his voice firm, but it was shaking and lacked any confidence. “Breathe, Douglas. Come on, like me: In… And out… Come on…”

Reluctantly, Douglas took deeper breaths, but in a small act of defiance he refused to match Martin’s instructions. God, he felt nauseous and exhausted and empty.

“That’s it. Alright. Okay. Good, good…” Finally, the older pilot’s vision focused, and he saw Martin looking at him, pale yet red from sunburn and more than a little frazzled. Well, Douglas was in no better state, he knew.

It was then the first officer noticed the wetness on his cheeks. It had been years since he’d cried, and now he had to do it in front of bloody _Martin,_ of all people. Hot shame coursed through him, and his face twisted in disgust.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he spat out, burying his face in his hands. He heard Martin tell Arthur to go get something and the steward scampered off, but all he wanted was for the two of them to leave him alone. Not getting home was bad enough, did the only two people around for miles have to witness him in this state? But Martin was hesitant to leave.

“We… We found a stream pretty close by. Do you need a drink, or…?” the captain wrung his hands, not sure what to do now.

 _Damn right I need a drink, but unless whisky is flowing from that stream you can fuck off,_ Douglas thought bitterly, but didn’t have the energy to respond. “Just go…”

“We’ll be alright, okay?” Martin sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Douglas. "We've got each other, if nothing else--"

“Just go…” Douglas was mortified to hear that come out as a sob.

A few moments later, he heard Martin shuffle up onto his feet, leaving Douglas with his shame.


	4. When There's a Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you look closely off at the horizon, you'll see the Gay approaching. It's getting closer. Hold your hats.

“Is Douglas going to be alright, Skip?” Arthur had waited anxiously by the shelter with his vest full of fruit. He shot their first officer a sad glance as Martin took a seat beside him.

“He just needs to be alone for a bit, I think…”

“Did you tell him we’re going to get home soon? Because we are. I just know it!”

Martin tried not to look doubtful, but the worry seeped into his voice. “Yes, well… O-Of course we will. They’ll have search parties looking for us, and they can track the route we took to Tegucigalpa. The island is small, so… I dunno, that must make it easier to spot us, mustn’t it? Somehow?” He wrung his hands nervously.

“Mum will be worried…”

Martin scoffed lightly. “Your mum will be furious.” He imagined the verbal (and possibly physical) lashing he would receive when they got back. Not only did he ruin the entire plane, but he did it before they’d even had a chance to drop off their cargo, so she’d have to deal with a lost crew and an angry client.

“Well, yeah. But also worried. She doesn’t show it like most people, but I think she cares about us, and she worries…”

That sad look didn’t look right on Arthur’s face. And it did nothing to brighten Martin’s mood.

“She will, I suppose… But we’re alright, aren’t we? So once they find us…” Martin trailed off a bit, trying to force back that nagging thought of _if they find us._ He surprised himself with how well he was holding up so far. Usually, he’d be the one to fall to pieces while Douglas kept his cool and remained annoyingly logical and teasing. Douglas would be the one to find a way out of this.

So if Douglas was the one having a panic attack and looking so hopeless, how terrible must things be?

Martin felt his own panic looming in the distance. It was a familiar feeling, probably more familiar to him than it was to Douglas or Arthur. He tried his best to push it back, but it was getting harder and harder to do so as the situation got more and more out of his control.

It wouldn’t do to have the first officer AND captain panicking, would it? If ever there was a time Martin had to be a leader, this was it. And yet, for all the years he struggled to prove he was a competent captain, he felt now more than ever the weight of responsibility begin to crush him. Responsibility for the lives of his crew members, responsibility for what happened to their plane, responsibility to get them all home safe and sound and to keep them alive--

“Hm… That’s odd. Tastes a bit like custard.”

Martin looked up. Arthur was chewing on a mouthful of the red-orange flesh of one of the brown fruits.

“Wh—Arthur, I told you not to eat those until we knew they were safe!” He snatched the fruit from the steward’s hand.

“But how else are we going to find out if it’s safe unless we eat it, Skip?”

“It could be poison! Y-You could be allergic to it, like you were with the dragonfruit!”

“I feel fine!” Arthur grinned and patted his chest and belly. “Look, still alive! I’m sorry, Skip, I’m just starving…”

Martin sighed. “I know…” His own stomach had been grumbling all day, and it was making him feel a bit weak. “Just… Wait a few minutes before eating anymore, alright? If you’re still feeling fine by then…”

“Good idea, Skip! I’ll be the taste-tester!” Even if it technically put his life at risk, Arthur was always happy to be helpful.

*****

Douglas had been sitting alone for nearly an hour, listening to the distant sound of his companions talking and the sounds of the ocean, before he was brought out of whatever reverie he was in by a shadow appearing over him. He barely glanced up, noting Martin standing there with a very large leaf he was using to shade his first officer, before his eyes fell back to the sand in front of him.

“Thought you’d like a bit of shade…” Martin stood awkwardly, before sticking his leaf in the ground and sitting next to Douglas. The leaf refused to stand upright long, though, and he battled with it a bit before giving up and simply holding it himself. Sighing, he handed Douglas one of the brown fruits. “And thought you might be hungry.”

Douglas grunted, examining the fruit. “What is this?”

“Not sure, but Arthur and I have already eaten it, and it seems safe enough.”

Douglas hummed and took a bite. What would it matter if it killed him, anyway? “Where’s Arthur?”

“Swimming.” The captain gestured off to where their friend was splashing about in the shallow waters.

“Mm…”

An awkward silence hung over the pair for a few moments before Martin spoke again.

“Listen, Douglas—“

“Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

“Anything.”

“Well… I do.” Martin tried again at getting the leaf to stay upright in the sand, and after fiddling a bit, finally succeeded. A castaway’s beach umbrella. “I was just going to say… I won’t say everything’s alright, because it’s not, not right now, but… Well, you’re always the one fixing things, aren’t you? But this is big, a-and no one’s expecting you to…” He cleared his throat. “I just want you to know that… this time, I’m going to fix this. Somehow. I don’t really know how yet, but… but as the captain, I think this is my responsibility. And we will get home. All of us, perfectly safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

Douglas finally looked up, giving Martin a withering look. “Martin, we are on a deserted island. You can’t fix a leaky faucet.”

Surprisingly, Martin looked unoffended. “Then we’ll all fix this, together.”

The first officer gave a deep sigh. He somehow didn’t feel very reassured. “Thank you for those words of encouragement, Captain, but I’m not looking for a pep talk right now.” Martin was never the optimistic one, and something about him being so encouraging was… unnerving. His captain’s newfound strength made him feel a bit more useless, somehow.

“And you might not want to hear this, but… If you do need someone—“

“Yes, alright, that’s quite enough of that, Dr. Crieff.”

“… Right…”

Off in the water, Arthur’s head popped up as he yelled to his friends.

“DID YOU SEE THAT, CHAPS?” he gasped. “FORTY-FIVE SECONDS! I HELD MY BREATH FOR NEARLY A MINUTE!”

“Your trophy is off being engraved as we speak.” Douglas took another bite of the fruit in his hands.

*****

The following days, they got down to business. Douglas’ leg was healing, but he was still able to do little else than tend the fire and work on the shelter a bit. He still refused to sleep with the other two, and made his own flimsy (though, he liked to think, significantly more structurally sound) accommodations nearby.  


The stream Martin had described was actually quite close to camp, and flowed from within the forest nearby into the ocean. It was difficult for Douglas to climb the rocks over to the nearby stream, but with a bit of help from his coworkers and a bit of wading through the ocean, he was able to make it there often enough to hydrate himself and wash up as well as one could without a proper shower. Every couple of days, they even attempted to wash their clothes, one article at a time as to not leave themselves naked. It left him smelling mostly like dirty water, but it was better than smelling like a dirty caveman.

Their prospects still seemed grim, but at least now there was an air of business as they found new tasks to accomplish. Finding more food, improving their shelter, planning how to set up a big “HELP” sign with rocks on the shore. Douglas was glad for the distraction, especially since he didn’t have to actually do much except sit and watch the other two work.

“You know, I’m starting to think you’re playing up this whole hurt ankle thing, Douglas,” Martin commented one day as he hauled in some rocks for their ‘help’ sign. He walked back and forth from the rock pile near camp in his shirt and boxers. Yesterday was trouser day for laundry, and theirs were still drying. “I saw you walking around just fine yesterday.”

“The pain comes and goes, Captain, especially when I aggravate it.” Douglas picked at his fruit with distaste. “We really do need to find a better meal. Happy as I am not to get scurvy, I’m afraid my insides are not thanking me for three fruit meals a day.”

“Well, when you get off your arse and look for something, you can complain.” Martin wiped his forehead with his ripped shirt.

“Weren’t you the one telling me to rest, Sir?”

“I saw you strolling around yesterday, Douglas, your ankle is fine enough to walk on.”

“Here you are, chaps!” Arthur appeared, back from the stream, tossing them each a pair of trousers. “All clean! Or as clean as they’ll get, anyway.”

Martin took a look at the pair he’d been given, which looked a bit too big, and swapped them with Douglas. “Alright, what’s today, shirt day?”

“Yes indeed, Skip!”

Martin and Douglas sighed, each tossing their shirts to Arthur, who trotted off to wash them as best he could.

“Just what I need, less clothing between my skin and the sun,” grumbled the captain.

Douglas hissed at the sight of his copilot’s back. “Doesn’t look like having a shirt has helped much, either way.” The entire span of Martin’s shoulders was bright red, with some nasty blistering. The pilot flexed his sunburnt back and gingerly rubbed the back of his neck. It looked very uncomfortable.

But not… hideous. If nothing else, the sun had darkened the light smattering of freckles that seemed to cover his entire body, and if one ignored the blisters, the redness gave the captain’s skin an almost endearing blush-like quality. It looked rather nice on his surprisingly pale, lithe frame. Martin had always appeared to be a rather scrawny man under his uniform. Where did those muscles come from? Probably his moving job, all that lifting--

Martin dropped the stone he was carrying into place on the sand, giving Douglas a glare and looking suddenly self-conscious. “Yes, alright, I know it’s bad. Would you stop staring?”

The first officer blinked, unaware that he was doing any such thing until it was pointed out to him. “My apologies. It just fascinates me how one can burn so thoroughly through a cotton shirt.”

“Well, we can’t all tan like you, can we?”

 _A tan might ruin the freckles,_ Douglas thought distantly, but simply hummed. He could have offered Martin his captain’s jacket to cover his bare back, but, well… He might overheat in it anyway, right? Better a sunburn than heat stroke.

*****

By the second week, things had quieted down. There wasn’t much renovation to do. Shelters had been perfected as much as they could be – holding up even in the brief rainstorm they had - , a latrine had been excavated down shore, a HELP sign was beautifully crafted by their stone-hauling captain. Food was available, though their choices were limited. Arthur sharpened a stick and attempted diving and spear-fishing, though he’d yet to catch anything edible. Martin and Douglas let him continue trying, though — It was good to have a hobby out here.

“It’d be nice to have _something_ ,” Martin grumbled as he and his copilot watched Arthur swim offshore. “Just… I dunno, something to use as a tool, something from civilization. Knives, pens, working mobiles with a signal.” He ran a hand over his now scruffy face. “Razors…”

Douglas sat in thoughtful silence a minute. “You know… I think I remember Carolyn mentioning our client being a restaurant owner of some sort?”

“Some fancy restaurant supplier.” What a Central American restaurant would want with English cooking supplies, he wasn’t sure, but he was now wishing they had gone somewhere else to do business. “Which does us little good since: 1) None of it is food, and 2) All of it is in the hold, which is currently submerged and inaccessible.”

Douglas hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s inconvenient, isn’t it? Now, if we had something to break into the plane…”

Martin scoffed. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something sharp one could wield to cut into the rusting metal of poor Gertie’s carcass.”

“Well, that’s what I’m saying. We need tools. But we have none—“

“Captain, I was just thinking. Do you remember that funny incident in America, when you were detained after threatening the passengers?”

“I was not threatening anyone! I was simply trying to make a point. Now it’d be very helpful if you just made yours!”

“Yes, you were making a point that, had you wanted to hurt anyone on the plane, nasal clippers would not have been your weapon of choice. As there are far more convenient and deadly tools on the plane. Such as…” He raised his eyebrow as he watched realization slowly dawn on Martin’s face.

“The axe!” A wide grin lifted the corners of the captain’s lips briefly, before they sunk back into a frown. “Which is… also submerged.”

“But a bit more accessible than the contents of the hold.”

“Yes, but how are we going to get down there without drowning?”

As if in answer, a splash was heard twenty feet away as their steward emerged from the water.

“CH-CHAPS! A MINUTE AND A HALF! THAT… THAT’S A NEW RECORD! I’M GETTING BETTER!”

Douglas returned his captain’s glance with a proud little smirk.


	5. Treasure Hunts and Life Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Errybody in the club gettin tipsay  
> (Now it's Douglas' turn to be supportive.)

“Now, Arthur, I need you to listen very carefully. We’re going to go over this one more time.”

“Right-o!” The steward was practically bouncing with excitement, which only caused their raft to rock more. Martin put a steadying hand on his shoulder, making sure he had his full attention, while Douglas sat beside them and yawned lazily.

“You remember where the axe is?”

“Yes!”

“And you’ve got your rock?”

“That I do!”

“Now tell me again what you’re going to do.” It had been about their hundredth time rehearsing this. Douglas mouthed the words as Arthur recited them.

“I’m going to dive down, swim into Gertie, smash the glass box with the rock, grab the axe, and come right back up!”

“And the rope?” The captain indicated the long string of bark and palm leaf stems they had managed to tie together, coiled on the floor of the raft. It was a weak excuse for a rope, but it should have been able to serve its purpose here.

“I bring it down with me and give it a good tug if I need any help!”

“Good. Alright. Yes.” Martin looked down into the water at the slowly rusting remains of the old plane, whose door remained open twenty feet below the surface.

“You reckon I might be able to grab anything else while I’m down there?”

Douglas finally looked up. “Now there’s an idea. I think there may be--”

“No, no Arthur, we’ve been over this. You get the axe, and come straight back up. Understand?”

“Aw, alright. And Skip?”

“Yes?”

“This is—“

“Brilliant, yes I know. Now, please, Arthur, take this seriously.”

“Martin, relax,” Douglas sighed. “We are looking at the Island-wide Breath-Holding Champion. It won’t take him but a minute… Provided he doesn’t screw up. Well.” The first officer shrugged and muttered, “Yes, I suppose we are talking about Arthur here, so…”

“Yeah, Skip, I’ll be fine! And if I’m not, I’ll tug the rope. Promise!”

Martin took a deep breath. “Alright. Are you read—“ But before he could finish, Arthur was already taking a deep breath and splashing into the ocean. 

Martin hastily fed him more rope as he plunged into the water and watched anxiously as his friend swam down, eventually disappearing into the open door of the plane. Gertie was tilted slightly to the side up against some outcropping of rocks, making the door more visible, but as soon as Arthur swam out of sight, Martin bit his lip worriedly and began counting the seconds. Every manner of horrible scenarios played in the captain’s head as he waited: Arthur getting caught on something and losing grip of the rope, a shark or something just as dangerous hiding in the submerged plane, Arthur forgetting he had to breathe until it was too late. Occasionally, a few bubbles of air would come up, catching Martin’s attention.

The entire time they waited, Martin was poised and ready to jump in if need be. His heart pounded and he gripped the edge of the raft. He counted away in his head – _One one thousand, two one thousand_ – for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only 39 seconds before they spotted movement. 

But it wasn’t Arthur. Martin watched in confusion as something white drifted up towards the surface and floated before him.

The captain blinked in surprise at the algae-encrusted gold braid of his hat, which bobbed up and down on the waves in front of him. He reached out for it, but before his fingers reached it, the cap burst upward from the water, atop the head of a gasping steward.

“I- I got it!” Arthur waved the axe above his head, causing a shout of _“Whoa whoa careful!”_ from both captain and first officer when the blade got too close to their inflated life raft. “Fir- First try!” 

Martin took the axe from Arthur’s hand, and together the two pilots helped pull their friend back into the raft -- Which was just a bit more difficult than it should have been, as Arthur was carrying a waterlogged flight bag in his other hand.

“Arthur, I told you not to grab anything extra!”

“Ah, my bag! Well done, Arthur!” Douglas looked far more pleased than Martin, and took the wet luggage from their swimming champion.

“Sorry, Skip, i-it was sitting right there, a-and I just figured, whi-while I was there…” The steward was still trying to regain his breath. He plucked the soaking wet captain’s hat off his own head and handed it to Martin. “A-And look what I got as well!”

“It’s a heavy bag, Arthur, it could have weighed you down! Y-You could have drowned!” Martin took the hat, though, feeling something stir in his chest as he plucked off green bit of slime.

“But he didn’t,” Douglas pointed out, grinning as he tried to pry open the zipper, which stayed stubbornly rusted shut. “Good show, Arthur. Truly the best swimmer on this island. The bag was difficult, surely, but that enormous hat must have weighed you down like a rock.”

Arthur beamed at the praise. For once, he not only didn’t bollocks something up, but he’d impressed his coworkers.

Martin sighed. His orders hadn’t been obeyed, but at least no one was hurt. And if he was honest, some part of him was very pleased to be reunited with his captain’s hat.

Together, using a couple large leaves they’d found as oars (for lack of anything better to use), the crew slowly made their way back to shore. They would put their axe to the test tomorrow. For now, the sun was getting lower in the sky, and they had accomplished enough for one day.

*****

As soon as they hit shore, Douglas limped off with his bag and sat on the sand, trying still to pull the zipper open with a frustrated growl. “Arthur, give me that axe.”

“What have you got in there, Douglas?” Arthur asked curiously, handing over the tool.

“Yes, I hope whatever it is was important enough to risk our steward’s life for,” Martin muttered, dragging the raft up onto the shore.

“An extra set of clothes, for one thing!” Douglas took the axe, hooking the corner of the blade into a hole by the zipper. A loud rip was heard as he sliced through. “Along with… Aha!” He ruffled through his belongings. “A razor! Finally!” They all had the beginnings of scraggly beards growing over the past couple weeks, and a shave felt like a treat, at least for Douglas.

Martin sat by the shelter with his cap, gently wringing it out and continuing to pick algae and silt off it. His thumb stroked the black visor, and he glanced up at Douglas with a small glare. “Really, Douglas, you’re excited about that?”

“Who was the one bemoaning his lack of a shave a couple days ago? I would have thought you would be more interested. It’s certainly more useful than that old thing.” He indicated the hat Martin had been stroking. The captain self-consciously held it closer to himself.

“What else have you got?”

“Well, let’s see… Ah!” Douglas looked around smugly at his companions and spoke before pulling out the next item. “Now this, I expect you both to find interesting.” 

He produced from within the bag, sealed in plastic, a large rectangular something.

Both Arthur and Martin perked up, and Martin rose, stepping forward to get a closer look. “Is that--?”

Douglas smirked at the captain. “Perfectly sealed, gourmet, straight from Belgium, 45% dark—“

“ _Chocolate!_ ” Arthur’s eyes (and grin) couldn’t have gotten any wider.

“Precisely!” Douglas admired the bar in his hand as if it was a fine piece of jewelry.

“And you… you’d actually share it with us?” Martin sounded both skeptical and hopeful.

“I may consider it, yes. Perhaps in exchange for something.”

“Oh, Douglas, none of us has anything to give! Don’t be unfair!”

“Well, I could be persuaded to give up a bit of my treat for, say, a break from my duties?”

“You don’t do anything!” Martin pointed out indignantly.

“My hands get rubbed raw every day from starting the fire that keeps you both warm.” Douglas frowned. “Surely, you or Arthur could take on the responsibility once or twice.”

“I’ll do it!” Arthur raised his hand eagerly.

“Should have known you’d be selfish about it. Don’t we do enough around here while you just… sit uselessly?” Martin went back to his spot by the shelter.

Douglas felt a tiny twinge of something unpleasant at the captain’s reaction. He sighed, setting the chocolate beside him and ruffling through his bag again. “If you like, Martin, I have something else you might find interesting as well. And that I, sadly, have no use for now that we’re never reaching Tegucigalpa.”

“And what’s that?”

Turning to his captain, Douglas pulled out a very expensive-looking bottle.

“ _Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame,_ 2004.”

Martin gaped for a moment. “Wait, how—How were you planning to get through customs—?“

“My connections are extensive and complicated; I won’t bore you with the details. Now, this is certainly expensive champagne, and I am losing a lot of profit by sharing. But luckily for you, your first officer’s generosity is overflowering, and his kindness unending.” While his hope for rescue was vanishing. “So… Well. Why the hell not?”

*****

The sun was completely set, the last light retreating by the time the bottle was nearly empty. Arthur was passed out on the sand, snoring loudly, while Martin and Douglas lay on their backs next to the fire. Martin was a giggling mess as he attempted to beat Douglas in a word game, and found he was no better drunk than he was sober at this.

“Alright, I give up, I can’t think of a color beginning with V.”

“Vermillion?”

“Vermil... Oh shush, you're just making them up now.” Martin took a large swig, effectively emptying the bottle. “Let’s just call it a draw.”

“Martin, so far you have only gotten ‘blue’ and ‘purple,’ while I’ve filled out the rest of the alphabet.”

“’S a silly game anyway.” The captain waved his hand in some vague gesture, pulling the visor of his cap down over his eyes.

Douglas regarded him a moment. Martin’s profile was silhouetted by the fire beside him, and a tiny smile played on his lips. Now, almost-cleanly shaven, he began to look more like a more relaxed version of his old self. The familiarity of it warmed Douglas’ heart a bit.

“Do you really need to wear that thing? There’s no one around to stand in awe of your excessive amount of gold braid.”

“I like it,” the captain pouted, adjusting the visor again so he could look at Douglas. “It’s… like home.”

“Mmm…” The first officer looked up at the sky. “Suppose I know what you mean.”

Martin stayed silent for a few long moments, studying Douglas’ face in the firelight before he spoke again. “It’s like… Having the hat made me feel like I had a bit more control, right?”

“You do love control.”

“Yeah, well… I think I need that now, you know?” He sounded more serious now. His voice got a bit quieter. “I just… wish I had some control over things right now. And—Look, I know ‘s silly, but…” He took the cap off his head, holding it in his hands and looking at it wistfully. “It’s comforting. The hat. Like I can pretend…”

Douglas looked over at his captain. “… Suppose I know what you mean there, too.”

Things went quiet; Martin studying his hat, Douglas studying Martin. The captain looked at his cap with a tragic sort of longing, like he was seeing a good friend pass away before him and he was recalling all the good times they’d had, knowing this was it. Those good times were done. Everything he had worked towards in life was now rusting in the ocean, right in front of him, and this was the last shred of evidence that he had ever accomplished anything. A strange ache clutched at Douglas’ heart, and he did something very odd. He reached out, removed one of Martin’s hands from the rim of the hat it had been gripping, and clutched it firmly in his own.

“We’re going to get home.” His voice was soft but resolute. He wanted Martin to believe this.

Martin’s gaze shifted from his hat to their joined hands. He accepted the comfort, gripping back. His mouth stretched into a thin line as he took in a slightly shaky breath. “We might not…”

“Understand?”

Douglas saw a muscle jump in Martin’s jaw while he tried desperately to keep his composure. The fire lit him from behind, illuminating the flame red hue of his hair and shining off the tears that stayed stubbornly unshed.

“… Yeah.” The captain looked up at his first officer.

“Good.”

The silence that fell between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire and breaking waves, was thick with a strange sort of tension as they watched each other. Martin began to calm down slowly as he focused on Douglas. Douglas let himself study the constellation of freckles covering his captain’s face. So much more interesting than the stars above, especially with the drunken blush he could see in the dim light.

He watched Martin’s blinks grow slower and longer, eyelashes brushing his speckled cheeks as he drifted off into sleep. Douglas found something very calming about the peaceful expression of his face.

Sleep found Douglas some minutes after it had Martin. Their hands remained clasped together, a silent gesture of solidarity and comfort.


	6. A Captain Does Not Go Down with His Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so much gay is happening right now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M LATE I KNOW.  
> I made up for it, I hope. Longer chapter and lots of gay. So much of it.

Nights on the island were often as cold as the days were hot, so it came as little wonder how the next morning Douglas found himself the meat in a castaway sandwich. Arthur had rolled over in his sleep, seeking out the warmth of the body closest to him, and had found it by pressing himself up against Douglas’ back. What caught the first officer’s attention, however, was the captain who had rolled over to bury himself in Douglas’ front; Nose close enough to Douglas’ neck for the older man to feel his soft breath on his skin, messy ginger hair tickling his chin, and hand still clasping his own. Though, that last detail took Douglas a little longer to realize, as that arm had fallen asleep beneath him.

With a wince, the first officer attempted to pull away from the two men. Arthur tightened his arms around him, however, and mumbled something in his sleep. Douglas attempted to prop himself up on an elbow, but doing so meant letting go of Martin’s hand, which felt… strangely unpleasant. The small bit of contact was oddly comforting – Enough to keep him from regretting his choice not to take more comfort from the bottle he’d so generously given away last night. 

Such a simple touch, but it made them both feel much less alone in all of this. A link between comrades. The soothing warmth of another person.

Douglas watched Martin as he shifted in his sleep. He saw the bags under his captain’s eyes, darker than they had ever been before the island. His cheekbones were a little more pronounced now, after he’d lost weight. His hair, once perpetually neat and gelled back, now a mess of slightly-overgrown curls. His lips were parted just a bit, and Douglas wondered vaguely if the captain would wake up with sand in his mouth on top of a hangover.

With a sigh, he finally began removing Arthur from his back, so he could fish out his next gift for his coworkers – A bottle of aspirin buried in his bag.

*****

“Good morning, Gentlemen!” Douglas had purposely greeted them both a bit more loudly than necessary when he saw Martin stir and Arthur sit up. Both of the men winced at his voice. The first officer limped over with his branch crutch. “I see you both enjoyed my gift.”

“Not so loud, Douglas…” Martin rolled over, pulling his jacket (which Douglas had draped over him) over his head.

“Ah, but I come bearing more gifts, Captain.” He rattled the bottle of pills by Martin’s head and heard the ginger pilot groan. “Come on, both of you sit up, take your medicine. Big day today, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” the captain muttered, reaching out blindly for the pills his FO offered. “Don’t suppose rescue’s come…”

“Oh yeah!” Arthur’s grin was more tired than usual in the wake of his hangover. “We were gonna cut Gertie open today, weren’t we? Like a big, metally piñata!”

Martin swallowed his pills down, groaning internally at the thought of banging a metal axe into a rusty metal plane, causing loud, metal noises. Slowly, he removed the jacket from over his head, blinking out at the dim light of morning.

Breakfast was barely a few mouthfuls of fruit from their dwindling supply, and a few tiny crabs with barely any meat on them. But it was what they were used to now. Arthur brightened a bit after he’d taken some aspirin, but the brightness he shone during a hangover was still dim compared to his normal self. Still, his enthusiasm was clear. The sooner they got out, the sooner they could crack open the hold and get supplies. It’d be a bit sad, tearing into poor Gertie like that, but… well, she’d been through worse, hadn’t she?

When the aspirin took more affect for Martin, the captain hesitantly agreed it was time to paddle out. And as they had before, all three boarded the raft (which had been so creatively dubbed the S.S. Yellow Boat by Arthur) and Martin and Arthur ran through the procedure again. This time, they weren’t going to dive unless necessary. Hopefully, some things would float up to them, and they’d be able to make do with them. Douglas doubted they were that lucky.

“Shouldn’t have drunk before this,” Martin complained, rubbing the sore muscles of his arms and shoulders as the raft approached the plane. Douglas regarded him a moment, before sighing and taking the axe off his lap. “Hey—Wh--?”

“I think I’ll be a bit more coordinated than you are at the moment, Martin. Can’t have you mis-swinging and hitting our Yellow Boat, now can we?”

Martin, without the energy to argue, let Douglas take control of the axe.

“Me and Skip thought, if we cut into it horizontally, then—“ Arthur attempted to explain the plan to Douglas, but before he could finish, the first officer took aim, brought the axe up, then swung down hard. The blade glanced off the metallic surface, causing a loud, unpleasant crash and screech that made all three of them wince. It was like 20 nails on a chalkboard, if the nails were an axe and the chalkboard was a plane.

A significant dent was left behind, but it didn’t look like Gertie was going to be easy to crack, rust or no rust.

“I think I can figure this out, Arthur. Let the master show you how it’s done.”

“Master—Of what, axe-wielding?” Martin gave him a skeptical look.

“Master of… well, just about everything, I imagine. I’m sure I could have become a lumberjack if I wanted to. I do look good in flannel, if I say so myself.” Douglas lifted the axe, and both Martin and Arthur covered their ears.

Douglas was certainly no lumberjack, though. It didn’t take many swings before he’d become exhausted, and still the only damage seemed to be dent after dent.

“Douglas, let me try,” Martin offered.

“No no,” Douglas panted, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’m getting this done.” Another swing, another loud ring of metal-on-metal. “… Care to make a wager?”

Martin blinked. “… What kind?”

“I get this plane open, and you take all my duties for a week—Without calling me useless.”

“What?”

“You can’t say I don’t get anything done when I’ve ripped open a plane to get us supplies, can you?” Douglas glanced back at Martin through a fringe of slightly-overgrown grey hair. “I always save the day, and you have to admit it.” He braced himself, then took another swing.

The metal split. At one tiny point, a hole had been made. It wasn’t big, just an inch long, but it was hope.

“A-Alright, fine, no fire duty for a week! Just get it open!”

Douglas grinned, taking another swing that rocked the raft – And made the hole a few inches larger. “And I don’t need to share my chocolate?”

“Fine, yes, fine!”

“And—“ The first officer began cutting vertically, trying to create an angle to enlarge the hole with. “I get to keep my change of clothes for myself?”

“Douglas—“

“And the soap!”

“You have soap??” Martin stared incredulously at him.

“Ah, well,” Douglas paused a moment. “I didn’t mention? Must have slipped my mind.”

Martin glared at the older pilot’s smirk and yanked the axe from his hands. “Give me that!”

“Now just a moment--!”

Martin took careful aim at the edge of the now significantly-sized hole, raised the axe, and swung as hard as he could. The metal bent, collapsing inward, weak from rust, and Martin stared down at the much wider hole he'd made. Light filtered into the water-filled depths of the plane, and Martin could already see boxes and crates floating within arm’s reach. They all stared at the contents, precious as a buried treasure.

“ _Ha!_ ”

But that one syllable was all the gloating Martin had time to do. 

A long, low creak sounded from below them. Slowly, very slowly, they saw Gertie’s tail end lean away from them. The crew’s eyes collectively widened.

“No—No no no no no!” Martin reached out frantically. He nearly fell out of the raft, but Arthur and Douglas swiftly tugged him back in. “NO!!”

They watched in silent horror. Bubble of air began to escape Gertie as she sunk further down, until she was lost to the waves completely. The low rumble of her metal creaking and settling on the ocean floor pierced through the shocked silence.

“Oh god…” Martin spoke finally. His face was white.

“… We can dive in!” Arthur suggested.

“I don’t think we can, Arthur.” Douglas swallowed. The plane might not be done settling, and the last thing they needed was for it to shift again while someone was inside it.

“But… But…” The steward’s lip began to wobble. “We- We need that! We need those…” 

And he went quiet. They all went quiet for a few minutes.

“Well…” Douglas broke the silence. “Back we go, I suppose…” He took one of their crude oars and tapped Martin’s shoulder. “Come on.”

They paddled back in silence. Arthur stared off at where Gertie had once been.

*****

“… Well?” Martin sat on the sand, arms hugging his knees to his chest miserably. Douglas took a seat beside him, carrying his bag.

“Well what?”

“No comments? No witty remark about how I’ve ruined everything, and I should have just left you to do it?” The captain sounded utterly defeated, like something inside him was shriveling up and dying.

Douglas was quiet a moment, watching him. “… Actually, no. Not at the moment.”

Martin huffed and buried his face in his arms, muffling his voice. “This is just my luck, isn’t it…?”

“I don’t think any of us have been terribly lucky here.” The first officer rummaged through his belongings. Martin heard the crinkle of plastic, and then his shoulder was being tapped. Looking up, he saw a single small brown square in Douglas’ hand. “Here.”

Hesitantly, Martin took the chocolate. “Thank you…”

“I know I said I wasn’t sharing, but… Well, you can take over fire duty tonight, in exchange.”

The captain sighed, nibbling at the segment he was given. Fire duty wasn’t a pleasant job – Tedious and rough on the hands – but he didn’t feel like he had a right to argue now. “Sure…”

And then Douglas was holding something else out to him. Martin blinked at the small, metallic thing in the FO's hand.

“A... A lighter?” The captain perked up a bit, shocked. “Does it--?”

“It works still, miraculously.” Douglas demonstrated, flipping the top and producing a small flame.

“But—You don’t smoke.” He took the lighter, flipping it closed and marveling at it.

“No, but sometimes it’s useful to have a light on you. Excellent for socializing.” Douglas gave him a crooked grin. “Don’t lose it.”

“Thank you… I’ll keep it safe.” The captain gave Douglas a small, almost shy smile that softened the first officer’s smirk.

“Chaps!” Arthur’s voice broke the growing silence between the two pilots. “Look! Look, out there! What’s that?” He pointed off at the ocean.

Off in the distance, where Gertie’s tail once stood out from the waves, something else was bobbing faintly up and down in the water.

Martin ran to get the raft.

*****

It took nearly half an hour of creatively using stones to open the wooden crate, but when the lid was finally wedged off enough to lift, the crew cheered.

“Gentlemen,” Douglas held the lid in his hand, ready to open it. “Drum roll, please.”

Arthur patted his lap, for lack of any real drums, and the lid was lifted. The three of them gathered in closer to see.

Inside, along with the wet, mushed remains of what was probably once a couple cardboard boxes and some foam packaging peanuts, was a stack of colanders, pans, and several spools of twine.

“Brilliant!” Arthur excitedly pulled out some of the string.

Douglas pulled out a frying pan, inspecting it thoughtfully. “… We can certainly work with this.”

*****

Two nights later, the skies were growing darker. The three men huddled in their now slightly improved shelter, out of the rain. Their pans sat out in a line outside, catching as much clean, fresh water as they could.

Their situation was a bit less dire than it had been a few days ago. Arthur had made something that almost resembled a fishing rod with a branch, twine, and a bent nail from the crate. While it didn’t have the best luck, the colanders did make excellent traps for small bait fish (or ‘snack fish,’ when it was all they had). The other night, he had actually managed to get something, and they were able to share a meal that was very decent compared to what they had had lately.

Still, Martin was tense. Douglas felt it, sitting in the middle of his two friends, sandwiched between them. Outside, the wind howled and the waves crashed violently on the sand, higher than usual. The captain jumped every time a crack of lightning flashed, and Arthur seemed similarly uncomfortable.

“Look at you two,” Douglas teased. “Practically shaking with fear over a bit of rain. As if you’ve never—AHH!!” All three of them screamed and huddled in closer as a loud CRACK! shook the ground beneath them. Lightning had hit the ground somewhere not very far away.

Douglas found himself clutching both men to either of his sides, and they all stared wide-eyed out at the storm.

“It won’t hit us, will it?” Arthur asked, clutching to Douglas’ shirt. Out here, sheltered by nothing but some sticks, leaves, and a bit of string, he felt incredibly vulnerable.

“O-Of course not!” Martin stuttered, but he was practically clinging to their first officer. The wind gave an extra strong gust, rattling their shelter. All three of them were frightened and none of them could deny it now.

A firm hand stroked Martin’s arm, both a comfort to himself and Douglas. 

“We-We’re fine.” A stutter sounded odd coming from the FO. “We just stay here. It will pass.”

Martin glanced up, seeing the terrified look on Douglas’ face. It never stopped looking strange on him. The first officer pulled them both in closer, and his hand came up to cradle Martin’s head. The captain looked down at Arthur, who was still shaking in Douglas’ other arm.

Gently, the hand in the captain’s hair stroked. He felt Douglas rest his cheek on his head. Martin closed his eyes.

The storm began to quiet eventually, and by the time it was nothing but soft rumbling in the distance with the faint purple light of morning showing through the clouds, the crew had fallen asleep in each other’s comforting arms.

*****

One month. They had been on the Island for one month today, and they knew it thanks to Arthur’s record-keeping on a tree near camp. Thirty little scratches in the bark. Not even a hint of rescue. Not one plane, not a boat. Martin had been looking so much greyer than usual, and even Arthur had noticed.

“Skip?” Arthur held out a bit of fish he and Douglas had saved for their captain, who sat alone on the shore.

“No, thank you…” He sounded distant, small. His hat was clutched in his hands.

“You haven’t eaten today… Or yesterday... Douglas and I are a bit worried.” The steward took a seat next to him.

Martin was silent for a long moment. Arthur waited patiently for a response, but when he got none, he continued talking. “Is it about home…?”

A muscle jumped in Martin’s jaw, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“It makes me sad sometimes too…” Arthur set down the pan with the leftover fish. “I still worry about Mum… I know she’s probably looking for us. Maybe not herself personally, but I can see her yelling a lot at other people to do it. Official people who do the official people searches.” He smiled briefly, but his smiles were never as bright as they used to be lately, and it soon faded. “I hope she doesn’t think we’re dead… I know it’d upset her.”

Martin took in a shuddering breath and swallowed again.

“… You know what cheers me up, though? I think about home. I imagine getting back, and there being a huge party for all of us! You think they’d get us cake? Gosh, I haven’t had cake in so long!” Another tentative smile found Arthur’s lips. “We’ll be like heroes, won’t we? I mean, we couldn’t save the plane, but we’ll have made it! Mum’d be happy to see us. And I’m sure your family would be, too!”

“No one would miss me,” Martin finally muttered. Arthur blinked.

“What do you mean? Of course they would, Skip!”

Martin shook his head. He began to babble softly. “I-I don’t have anyone back home. Barely have any friends beyond you two. Mum’d be upset, but she’d have Simon and Katelyn… Other than that, no one. I’m alone, I’ve always been alone, and no one will miss me. I have nothing at home, even if I did get back. No career, no flying. Who would hire a man who crashed a plane? Who would hire me if they had to actually pay me? I’m a failure. I achieved only one thing in my life, I was a captain by—by giving myself away for free, and it was only a matter of time before this happened. Because that’s all I am, a failure. I’m nothing. I-I’m not a pilot, I’m not a captain, I’m…” By the end, Martin was shaking, fighting off tears and gripping his cap angrily in his hands. He heard Arthur shift closer.

“That’s not true, Skip…” He tried putting a hand on the captain’s shoulder, but Martin was already getting to his feet and retreating across camp. Arthur and Douglas both watched him make his way towards the river beyond the boulders.

“Let him go, Arthur,” Douglas told the steward when he tried to follow. But the FO felt a pang of worry in his chest as the mop of ginger hair disappeared behind the rocks.

*****

By night time, Martin had yet to return. Arthur lay next to Douglas, sleeping restlessly while the first officer stared out at the dark beach.

The worry became too much. Careful not to disturb the sleeping steward, Douglas climbed out of the shelter, following the footprints he saw in the dim moonlight. More than once he almost tripped on a rock as he carefully transversed the boulder barrier. His ankle was healing, but it still ached when strained, and by the time he made it over he was limping.

“Martin?” He called out as he made his way to the river. With no answer, he called out a few more times, struggling to see around in the dark.

His heart was just beginning to race with panic when he finally heard a voice, two yards away under a tree. “Here…”

With a sigh and a wince, Douglas knelt beside the man. “There you are. You had us worried, you know.”

“I just… I-I needed to be alone…” 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind sharing your solitude with an old friend.” Douglas took a seat beside him. His hand hit Martin’s cap on the ground as he did so, though, and he felt something resting inside it. Martin quickly tried to snatch it away, but not before Douglas grabbed a hold of it.

“… What are you doing with the twine, Martin?” Even in the dark, the captain could see Douglas’ eyes on him, wide and anxious.

“Nothing, Douglas, n-nothing, I…” He grabbed the spool away from his copilot, looking both humiliated and distressed.

“Martin, what were you planning?”

“I-I wasn’t planning anything! I just…” His hands shook, and he went silent, hiding his face.

Some part of Douglas wanted to yell, and had this been one month ago, he might have. But now, after all they’d been through, he couldn’t blame Martin. Yelling didn’t seem like the thing to do anymore. Instead, he pulled the man into his chest, and Martin went willingly.

“I can’t do it anymore, Douglas…” The captain finally allowed himself to cry, his words choked in sobs. “Every day, every day we’re barely surviving, and I… God, I failed you both, I failed everyone…”

“You saved us,” Douglas spoke into his hair. “You know how difficult it is for a pilot to land a plane like that in the water.”

“I crashed it… I did that…”

“No, Martin. Gertie had engine failure, and none of us expected it. You cannot control that any more than you can control the weather.”

“I-I did the walk-around that day, I must have missed something…”

“You missed nothing.” The first officer clung to Martin as if his own life depended on it, but allowed one hand to roam soothingly up and down his back. “You got us out alive, and that was the most anyone could have ever done. You are the reason we made it this far. You’re our captain.”

“I’m not a captain, I’m… I’m _pathetic_ …”

“Martin, that first day you saw me break down. _Me._ And I fancy myself a man who is very good at keeping cool under pressure.” He felt Martin shudder in his arms, and the warm glow of sympathy in his chest grew. He found himself overcome with affection for the man, and closed his eyes. “But you… God, Martin, you were more of a captain that day than I’ve ever been in my life…”

The two sat silently for a moment, both their hearts hammering, both clinging.

“… You mean that…?” The question was so soft, so unbelieving. Something clenched tighter around Douglas’ heart, and his lips pressed to the captain’s hairline.

“I do…”

Martin’s head tilted up a bit. Douglas’ lips met his brow. Both of them were now shaking, tears still rolling down the captain’s face.

“Douglas…” Warm, callous hands cupped Martin’s face, thumbs wiping away his tears. The captain felt Douglas’ breath on his face, stuttering in and out of the FO’s lungs from emotion. Their noses brushed as Martin tipped his head up just a bit more, and Douglas’ breath caught in his throat.

They sat like that, silent, Martin’s fingers clenched around the fabric of Douglas’ shirt, Douglas’ fingers brushing gently over the hair on the nape of Martin’s neck. The same kiss that had found Martin’s brow found his lips; Brief, hesitant, soft. Martin shivered, hearing his own heart pound in his ears. Another kiss. Martin returned it. 

The next one was much less hesitant. Both men were already breathing heavily, clinging together, but the embrace changed. Martin’s hands ran up Douglas’ chest, fingers skittering over the skin of his neck to bury themselves in his hair and cause the older man to shiver. Douglas’ hands mapped their own course, down Martin’s torso to his waist, arms wrapping around him and fingers stroking the skin below his shirt.

The kiss grew steadily more passionate, fueled by emotion and a need to fend off the loneliness they felt every moment on the Island. Douglas was almost surprised by Martin’s enthusiasm, but didn’t object when he was pulled down onto the ground. Martin wrapped around him with arms and legs and _Christ_ he was making tiny sounds between breaths that were driving Douglas mad. The man sounded so eager and so vulnerable all at once. Douglas let out something like a sob and bucked gently against him, causing a gasp that interrupted the kiss very briefly, before he was pulled down forcefully and his lips crashed back into Martin’s.

“Martin…” It came out a soft pant between kisses. Martin bucked his hips up encouragingly. God, how long had it been since either of them had been with someone? They rutted against each other breathlessly, until Douglas’ hand snaked down to unzip their trousers, freeing them both from the uncomfortably tight fabric. Martin breathed an audible gasp when they both were taken in Douglas’ hand.

The gasp left a break in the kiss that allowed the first officer to move his lips elsewhere – Across Martin’s jawline, down his throat. Martin tipped his head back, gasping for air as his hips moved with Douglas’ stroking hand.

“Need you…” Douglas groaned out softly into the side of the captain’s neck.

“Douglas…” Martin gripped the other man’s shoulders, his back arching off the ground.

“ _Christ_ , I need you, Martin…” His hand sped up, causing the man below him to writhe.

With a low, pent-up groan and a shiver, Martin came between them. Douglas followed soon after, swearing under his breath and gasping.

As the two men attempted to catch their breaths, Martin looked up at Douglas. The older man saw something pained and afraid there in his eyes, and he wanted to kiss away all of Martin’s worries.

But already, Martin was pulling away, rolling over to sit up.

"Martin..."

"W-We should clean up and get back," was his only response as he turned his back to Douglas and went to wash up in the stream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ??? DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE SMUT.  
> ¯\\_(◕//﹏//◕)_/¯


	7. Ulterior Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is fine, Douglas is scheming, and Arthur tries to help.  
> Things are still a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to douglasrichardsonskitkat on tumblr for doing a bit of betaing for me!
> 
> (Also, sorry if it takes me longer to get chapters done. Back at school now, and things are distracting. I'm still trying, though! WE'LL GET THIS DONE WE'LL FINISH THIS TOGETHER.)

That night was spent in awkward silence, save for the familiar sound of Arthur’s snores coming from between the two pilots. Martin kept his back to the other men – or, more specifically, to Douglas. Douglas spent much of the night giving Martin’s back worried glances.

Finding it difficult to sleep, Douglas was already awake by the time dawn came and Martin tried to escape. As the captain crawled out of the shelter, Douglas sat up, calling out in a hushed voice.

“Where are you going?”

Martin jumped, startled. “I’m—I thought I’d go looking for fruit, down the shore,” he mumbled, before quickly slipping away. 

But Douglas wasn’t letting him go that easily. Careful not to disturb Arthur, he climbed out to follow the captain.

“Martin, wait.”

“I can handle this alone, thanks.”

“Martin.”

“Really shouldn’t leave Arthur alone too long, don’t know what kind of trouble he’ll get into.”

“Martin.”

“Really, Douglas, I—“ He was cut off but a hand on his wrist, halting him.

“Martin, _wait.”_

Martin swallowed. Finally he turned toward Douglas, but avoided eye contact.

Douglas sighed, releasing his wrist. “We need to talk.”

“ _Need_ is a strong word. I’m perfectly fine leaving it alone, honestly.”

“I’m serious. Martin… about last night…”

The captain’s ears burned. “Really, Douglas, it’s alright. I’m fine. We’re fine. It was just…” The more he spoke, the redder he became. “Emotions were high, we’ve been alone on this island for a long time, and…” He shrugged, looking the picture of awkward. “Things… _happen._ I-I understand. It’s fine. Fine. Just fine.”

With that many “fines” in a row, it wasn’t any wonder why Douglas looked skeptical. “You left so suddenly. You refused to look at me. You won’t even look at me now.”

Martin glanced up briefly with a scoff, as if to prove him wrong. “Of course I left suddenly, I mean…”

“… Martin, if it wasn’t fine, please don’t lie to me.”

“It was fine,” Martin sighed. “Just—Look, what am I supposed to do after something like- like that?”

“You could have stayed. We could have been having this discussion then instead of now.”

“I was perfectly happy not discussing it and letting it go, Douglas.”

“Martin, this is _important.”_ The first officer’s shoulders slumped minutely. “Look, I… I hope you don’t feel I’ve taken advantage of you in some way. But please, let me know if you do, because that was never my intention and I hadn’t planned—“

“What? No, no! I-It wasn’t like that!”

“I’m having a hard time believing that with the way you’re acting, Martin.” Douglas’ voice wasn’t accusing, though. He had been sure when they were together last night that it had been completely consensual – Martin had even initiated a lot of it, had pulled him down roughly and reciprocated – but now the nagging guilt that perhaps, in their emotional state, Douglas may have done something to make Martin uncomfortable was torturing him.

“No, no, Douglas…” Martin sighed, touching the first officer on the arm and finally looking at him for longer than a millisecond. “It’s not… I-It was mutual. We both…” He looked down again and let his hand fall. “Please, don’t think it was like that.”

Douglas sighed internally with relief. “Good…” It was mutual. Martin had wanted it as much as he had. The first officer’s spirits began to lift a bit at the thought of that.

“It was just a mistake, but it’s done and we can move on.”

 _Ouch._ Douglas could practically feel that statement like a knife. “… A mistake.”

“Yes.” Martin shrugged. “We… We’re both lonely, and we have… _needs,_ so it’s not surprising…” He folded his arms awkwardly around himself. “But you said it yourself, we didn’t plan to… It just… happened.”

“… Right.” Douglas spoke slowly, folding his own arms. His brow creased. “A mistake. Implying that you did regret it.”

Martin stuttered for a moment. “I-I mean… It wasn’t…” He fidgeted, scratching the back of his neck, and muttered, “Wasn’t… _bad_ but… Look, I didn’t mean it like that, Douglas.”

“Then enlighten me as to how you _did_ mean it, Captain. Because I’m having a hard time trying to work out what is going on in that head of yours.”

Martin huffed out a sigh, running his hands over his face as if it would rid him of his blush. “I just meant… We didn’t expect that to happen, did we? And… Well, I know you’re straight, so…”

“That’s very presumptuous of you.”

Ah, finally, Martin was actually looking at him. With a very shocked expression, too. “… B-But—You—Y-Y-You were married to—“

“Women, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’ve never fancied men as well.”

Martin was at a loss for words. “Well… I, um… You never said, so I-I just assumed…”

“You never asked. Though, I don’t think you should be one to judge, after last night.”

“No, n-no, I, ah…” Douglas took some small joy in how the captain’s blush returned full force. “I… M-Me too. Actually.”

“Interesting.” Douglas looked a little less upset now, and much more intrigued. Martin wasn’t straight. He hadn’t misread the captain’s wishes. And awkward as Martin was at admitting it, he didn’t regret their encounter. Douglas shifted gears. “So… We’re both attracted to men, and we both consented?”

“That seems… about right. Yes.”

“Then I suppose I should be hurt you didn’t enjoy yourself last night. Except, I _rather_ think you did.”

Practiced as Douglas was at flirtatious banter, he had never before caused someone to go quite that shade of red. He wasn’t sure what was more surprising: the fact that Martin had the ability to change skin color as dramatically as a chameleon, or that he was actually flirting with Martin Crieff.

Martin stuttered again, before mumbling something.

“What was that?”

“I said… I said I-I didn’t... I didn’t say I _didn’t_ enjoy it… just…”

“Oh. Good.” Douglas had gone from dreading this talk to being very amused by it. Knowing Martin had in fact _liked_ what had happened, the first officer felt a bit more in his element. “Quick as it was, I rather enjoyed it as well. Though, to be honest, I’m used to taking my time with things like that, you know. Quick and sloppy aren’t usually my style.”

That seemed to be all the embarrassment Martin could physically take. “Right, I-I-I’m getting food.” He swiftly made his way back down the shore.

“Need any help?” Douglas called after him, trying and failing to hold back a smirk.

“No!”

*****

Flirting aside, after the night they had had, Douglas was still very concerned for his captain. And it was clear Arthur was, as well.

“Should we maybe… talk to him?” the steward suggested while Martin was still away foraging.

“We talked a bit last night.” _Among other things._ “I think the island is just getting to him. As it is to us all.”

“He said no one would miss him.” Arthur frowned sadly, doodling in the sand with a stick. “But that’s not true, is it? I’m sure loads of people would miss him.”

Douglas didn’t doubt that, though he knew Martin didn’t have many friends. The captain had a way of getting on people’s nerves, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people out there who would care if he died. But seeing the way he was last night, the first officer knew it would be hard to convince him otherwise. His own thoughts had gone a similarly dark route more than once while they’d been there. “I’m sure they would, too…”

“I’d miss him…”

Douglas looked up at Arthur, whose brow was creased with worry lines that had no place on that usually cheery face. “I know you would. He’s not going anywhere, though; not until we get home. None of us are. People can miss us all they want in England, but eventually we’re getting back to them.”

Arthur looked up at the pilot, trying one of his old, optimistic smiles. Douglas hated how it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m sure we will.”

“But for now, there’s us. And we need each other. Which means Martin needs us, stubborn as he is to ask for the help.”

Arthur nodded, before his attention was drawn past Douglas and down the shore, where he saw a familiar figure returning with an armful of fruit. “Skip!” 

Martin barely had time to greet them before the steward was on his feet, rushing over and enveloping him in a hug that caused him to drop the food.

“Ah! Oh… Um…” He patted Arthur’s back awkwardly. “Hello…”

“We missed you, Skip!”

“I was only gone an hour.”

*****

Douglas mulled over his thoughts for the remainder of the day, and watched how Martin awkwardly avoided him during that time. He didn’t take offense. Martin was awkward on a good day, and knowing what caused him to blush and stutter (and that it hadn’t been anything he regretted), Douglas took a small bit of pride in making his captain so flustered. If nothing else, Martin looked distracted from the thoughts he had had before their encounter.

Which got Douglas thinking.

They didn’t know how long they were going to be on that island, and the longer they were there, the harder it became to distract themselves. Martin seemed the hardest hit out of the three of them, though he tried to hide it as best he could. Perhaps Douglas could help distract him a bit. Surely, wanting to relieve your captain’s stress was a very selfless and noble cause. And if the first officer got something out of it in the process… Well, that would just sweeten the deal, wouldn’t it?

Douglas fully believed that half the fun of sex was getting there, even before you bedded someone. (Though they had technically already done that.) It had been a long time since he had gotten to seduce anyone. What harm would it do out here?

What would have been more fun than asking Martin if he’d like to make such an arrangement, however, would be having Martin ask him. And after more than once catching the captain glancing at him during dinner, and watching the way he flushed when caught, Douglas knew this wouldn’t be hard.

*****

It had started off subtly. A small gesture here and there – Taking on laundry duty when it was Martin’s turn, sharing some of his food if the captain was still hungry after a meal, and even once giving him a particularly beautiful flower Douglas had found while walking along the shore. (The last of which had gotten Douglas chastised – _“You were supposed to be finding food, how are we supposed to eat this?”_ – but he caught the tiny smile Martin tried to hide.)

All perfectly innocent. All meant to soften the captain, until he had to admit to himself that his first officer was absolutely irresistible and he just had to do something about it.

But chores and flowers alone would not win over Martin Crieff, Douglas knew. He had to do far more than that. Something a bit more physical, to remind the captain how good he could be with his hands.

“Busy?”

Martin jumped at the unexpected voice behind him, and clutched the shirt he’d just shed to his chest. “Jesus…” he sighed, turning to glare at Douglas. The first officer didn’t miss the faint pink in his cheeks. “Give a little warning next time, I nearly had a heart attack.”

Douglas smirked, walking over to the riverside. “My apologies, Captain. Did I interrupt something?”

“Yes, I was about to bathe, thank you very much.” He held his shirt self-consciously over his chest still, and his eyes narrowed. “I believe I mentioned that before I came here.”

Douglas knelt down by the water. “I must not have been paying attention. I just came to get a drink, if that’s alright, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Yes alright, hurry up.”

Of course, Douglas took his time, scooping water into his cupped hands and sipping at his leisure. Behind him, Martin waited impatiently.

“… Alright, that’s enough, Douglas. I know why you’re here.”

The first officer turned and raised an eyebrow at Martin. “Because I’m thirsty?”

Martin was staring down at his feet. “I’m fine, alright.”

“Never said you weren’t.”

“I’m not an idiot, Douglas. You’re coming to check up on me.”

Finally, Douglas stood. “What makes you think that?”

Martin scoffed. “You’ve been acting… odd all week. _Nice.”_

“Implying that I’m not usually?”

Martin gave Douglas a look. Alright, fine, he had a history of occasionally being less than pleasant, Douglas would give him that.

“I’m fine, though, Douglas. Really. So you can stop acting so nice and just… go back to your normal self.”

“‘Normal self?’ You wound me, Martin!”

“You know what I mean.” Martin turned to hang his shirt on the clothes line they’d strung up. “It’s… unnerving.”

“… You really don’t like it?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Martin kept his back (which was still very sunburned, though also a bit more muscled than it had been a few weeks ago) to Douglas, pretending to busy himself with his shirt. “You’ve both been a little odd around me lately, and I… I want you to know I’m not fragile, I don’t need special treatment.”

Douglas stayed silent a moment, making a mental note to postpone the plans he had had to ask the captain if he may join in on his bath. Admittedly, part of his motivation for his actions was that, if nothing else, it might brighten Martin’s mood a bit, but apparently the subtle flirting had been taken the wrong way and made the younger man uncomfortable. “Martin, if there is anything I have learned out here, it is that you are far from fragile.”

Martin fiddled with the ripped sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t need special treatment,” he repeated.

“… Do you recall what you told me after I… broke down that day?” The first officer stepped closer, and Martin finally looked up.

“I said… we’d get home.”

“And you told me that, if nothing else, we have each other. Arthur and I have taken that to heart, believe it or not. We’re trying to be here for you, Martin, so just… let us.” He reached out to touch the captain’s shoulder, but Martin flinched with a hiss.

“Sorry… Sunburn.” Martin turned around finally, gingerly touching his red shoulder. “I try to stay in the shade, but… Well, with my complexion…”

Douglas frowned. “Is it always this painful?”

“No, just on bad days… Sunny days.”

“Hm… There are some good things to be said for your sort of complexion, but unfortunately none of them involve being out in the sun for extended periods.” He inspected the red patches on Martin’s shoulders. “You know, I do have something that might help, but it has to be used sparingly.”

“Something from your bag?”

“My little Mary Poppins bag of wonders, yes. Come to me when you’re finished bathing.” He gave Martin a gentle smile (that had only the slightest hint of a smirk) before leaving him to finish cleaning himself.

*****

“Ah, there he is, sparkling clean!” Douglas sat waiting by the fire pit with his bag when Martin returned to camp. The captain gave him a confused look.

“Where’s Arthur?”

“Still making an attempt at spear-fishing.” Douglas pointed off to the figure swimming in the water off shore with what looked like a long branch, then patted the spot in front of him. “Come, sit.”

Looking a tad hesitant, Martin took a seat in front of his copilot. Douglas hissed at the sight of Martin’s back, reaching into his bag. “God, that is awful, isn’t it?”

“Is it really?” Martin glanced over his shoulder.

“And not even a hint of tan, for all your trouble.”

“No, I’ve never tanned… Too pale, I suppose.” He heard the cap being popped off something. “What—What’ve you got?”

“Just some aloe lotion. I _had_ been expecting to be somewhere tropical while packing, and while my skin’s not quite as pale, I’m not immune to sunburns.” Douglas lathered some onto his hands, before gently placing them on the captain’s shoulders. Martin flinched. “Hurts?”

“No, no it’s… nice.” Already the cool lotion was soothing his irritated skin, and Douglas’ hands were gentle enough not to cause too much aching. Now, what burned most were Martin’s ears. “… Thank you, by the way.”

“My pleasure.” And _that_ was 100% true, the first officer thought smugly. “It’s nice to be able to sit and hold a conversation without you looking two seconds away from dashing off.”

Martin hugged his knees to his chest, secretly enjoying the feel of gentle hands roaming over his shoulders. “Sorry… I-I’ve just been…”

“Avoiding me.”

“That’s not true…”

“What would you call it, then?” Douglas let his hands slide a bit further down the captain’s back, along either side of his vertebrae, before letting his thumbs knead into less sun-burned flesh. He may have been a bit thinner now, after a month of barely getting enough food, but Martin had gained just a little more muscle. Douglas was no longer ashamed to admit to himself that he really did like watching the captain lift things.

Martin sighed, both from exasperation and from the soothing feeling of Douglas rubbing at his tense muscles. He hid his face in his knees. “… I don’t know…”

“I know things have been a bit… awkward lately, but I hope you don’t want to stop being around me, Martin.”

“No, no it’s nothing like that…” Martin felt the hands move up to his neck, fingers brushing the hair on his nape and causing goose flesh. He swallowed.

“Oh?” 

Fingernails scraped gently at the base of Martin’s scalp, before Douglas’ hands made their way back down his back and were gone. Martin immediately glanced over his shoulders, wondering if Douglas had decided to stop, but saw the first officer pouring a bit more lotion into his hand. Douglas scooched closer and returned to touching. Martin let out a shaky sigh.

“Tell me what’s wrong, then.” Douglas’ voice was surprisingly soft. It wasn’t a tone Martin heard often, and it made something flutter momentarily in his chest.

A long moment of silence hung between them. The captain looked up briefly to see Arthur, still swimming around with his sad excuse for a harpoon, before Martin crossed his arms over his knees and hid his face once more. “… W-What happened, back when… you know.” Douglas hummed in confirmation. “I… I-I’ve never… I’ve never done _that_ before…”

Douglas’ hands paused momentarily. “You… were a virgin?”

“No! No, I-I didn’t mean… No, I’ve done that before, just not… _that._ You know?”

“With a man…?”

“No, I…” His voice was muffled in his arms and his face was hidden, but Douglas knew a blush was there. “I’ve done… _that._ With _those._ But not…” He let out a huff of breath. “I’m not very _spontaneous,_ I suppose you could say.”

“Mm, only ever with partners?”

“Yeah… Few as they’ve been… Nothing like your track record.”

“ _Track record?_ I prefer to call it ‘experience.’” The playful banter helped to lighten the mood, and Martin began to relax as Douglas kneaded away the tension.

“Mm…”

“… You know this doesn’t change anything, don’t you?” Douglas’ voice was a bit closer, Martin noted. He had leant in. The captain’s heart did another little flutter.

“It doesn’t?”

“It certainly doesn’t. We’re still friends. I’m still the same dashing, charismatic man you’ve known your entire time working with MJN.”

“Same giant five-year-old.” Douglas could tell Martin was smirking, and didn’t have the heart to be legitimately offended.

“How very rude, Captain. And here I am, doing you a favor.”

Martin chuckled softly and hummed. Douglas’ hand slid back up his spine, into his hair to scratch gently at his scalp. The younger man almost seemed to deflate, going more relaxed at the soothing touch. Douglas leaned in more, his voice much closer to Martin’s ear now.

“Please don’t avoid me anymore. I have only two friends on this island, and I’d prefer not to lose you.”

Martin closed his eyes. “You won’t…”

“Good.” His fingers trailed down Martin’s neck, and the captain leaned his head to the side slightly in response. His breath stuttered a moment.

“Douglas…”

“Hm?”

“Chaps!” Arthur called as he made his way back onto the shore, and both captain and first officer started in surprise. Martin quickly scooched away from Douglas, who cursed softly under his breath. “Chaps, I got one! Look! I finally got a fish!”

*****

That day a comparable feast was had. Arthur had somehow managed to spear a good five pounds of fish, and with Douglas’ cooking know-how, none of the meat was wasted. Their bellies, after growing used to the lack of proper meals, felt full and distended. Martin and Douglas lounged on the sand, half chatting, half in a food coma.

Arthur, however, didn’t feel sleepy. He felt excited! It had taken him a few weeks of trying, but he had finally managed to get them some proper food. It felt brilliant contributing something, just like it did when he got the axe out of Gertie! He wanted to do more of it!

But what more could he possibly do? He’d continue perfecting his spear-fishing technique, but what they all wanted more than food was a way off the Island. He had already suggested they take the raft and row out until they found land, but Martin told him that was silly – They didn’t know how far away land was, and they could die of thirst of hunger before then. He had suggested they build a sail – Douglas had mentioned before that he loved sailing! – but even the first officer doubted that plan would work.

Arthur dug around in the crate they still had from Gertie’s hold, looking for inspiration. Inside were some old packing peanuts, a few pans they weren’t using, and their supply of string. He took some of the items out to study, but then his eyes caught something else at the bottom of the wooden box. Something wrapped in plastic, which had almost saved it from water damage. Picking it up, the steward ripped open the package and removed the still slightly damp warranty and instruction pamphlet.

 _Brilliant!_ He thought.

… Wasn’t it?

Surely there had to be a use for these. They were the only papers on the island, and paper was plenty useful!

But… how was it useful?

 _Well, there’s stuff to read on here. Reading is useful!_ The steward flipped through the wrinkled pages. Inside, it detailed a lifetime warranty on the Teflon pans and stainless steel colanders, until the very back of the booklet, where he found a section for notes. He always thought those were a bit silly. Why would someone need to take notes? Everything was already written there!

Wait. An idea slowly began to form in his mind.

_People write on paper._

“Well I know that, silly,” he muttered to himself. “But I’d need a pen or something to do that!”

Arthur looked around, sighing as he tried to find something – anything – he could use as a writing instrument. He glanced behind him at his two friends, who were dozing in the shade by the now burnt-out fire pit.

The steward stared at the pit a moment, thinking hard, when suddenly the most brilliant idea came to him. “Oh!” Excitedly, but careful not to disturb the other two men, Arthur went over to the pit and picked out a few charred pieces of wood. He remembered using these loads of times to draw on rocks around camp. Some of his works – stick figures, mostly, of the three of them – were on display next to the shelter.

When he returned, he found the sharpest end of the charred wood and ripped out a sheet of note paper. _I’ll write a letter!_

_To whom?_

_I dunno… anyone!_

_Wait… How will you get it to them?_

Arthur paused, staring into the middle distance and biting his lip in thought. Right. How was he going to get the letter to anyone while they were out there? There was no postman who could come floating along, take his letter, and bring it back to civilization. He couldn’t just cast the papers out into the sea and hope it found someone; Paper didn’t do so well in water.

With a frustrated huff, the steward sat on the sand. He had to put on his thinking cap for this one. If only he hadn’t left it at home!

_Think, Arthur. Think, think, think! There must be some way! Maybe you could tie it to a bird? Maybe if you make a reeeaaally good paper airplane and get the right amount of wind…_

Growing increasingly frustrated and exhausted from thinking, he flopped back onto his back with a sigh. But a sharp pain hit the back of his skull.

“Ow!”

Rubbing the back of his head and propping up on his elbow, Arthur looked around at the sand below his head. Sitting there was the champagne bottle Douglas had given them. (And this wasn’t the first time that bottle had caused Arthur a headache.)

Picking up the bottle, the steward inspected it. It was filled with water, kept safe in case of some emergency and corked shut. Arthur still didn’t understand why they needed to collect water, water was everywhere when you were on an island! But for some reason, sea water wasn’t good to drink. Something about the saltiness making you thirstier, Douglas had said. Like watery potato crisps.

_Silly ocean. Can’t even do water right, can it?_

_Wait. Wait, something’s happening… Ocean… Bottle… Wait…_

He squinted at the sea, face scrunched up in thought for a good minute and a half, before his eyes widened. “Oh… _Oh!”_

With a wide grin, Arthur began to write his letter.

*****

_Hello! If you are reading this, then… Brilliant!_

_My name is Arthur Shappey. Well, actually, this is just a paper in a bottle. The bottle doesn’t have a name. Not yet, anyway. But Arthur is me, the one writing this. Hello!_

_I don’t have many pages so I’m going to try and make this short now. My two friends and I – Douglas Richardson and Martin Crieff – are stuck on this island, and we’d very much like to be found. We aren’t sure where we are, but our plane crashed, and while islands seem like brilliant places to live, it turns out living alone on one is very unpleasant._

_Oh no, I only have one page left. So basically, we’re on a small island somewhere between Florida and Central America. Please help us!_

_Much love,_

_Arthur_

_PS: Can you please let my Mum, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, know we’re alright? She lives in Fitton, England. Thanks!_

*****

“Douglas, do you know where the bottle is? That water’s been in there a while and I want to refill it.”

“I thought it was over by the supplies.”

“I thought so too, but I can’t seem to find it…”

“Well that’s worrisome.”

“Arthur, have you seen it?”

“The bottle? Oh yeah! I know where it is!”

“Good, where?”

“The ocean!”

Martin and Douglas turned slowly to look at their steward.

“What do you mean… the ocean?”


	8. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New WDKU drinking game: take a shot every time I mention Martin's freckles.

After the pilots had properly chastised Arthur for wasting one of their few precious supplies, Martin had made an effort to look for the bottle. But already it had been carried too far out by the waves, and the sky was growing darker. Apologizing once more, Arthur dejectedly went off to bed.

Martin sighed, sitting beside Douglas on the shore. Twilight was fading into night. Their main source of light came from the moon above and fire behind them.

“Do you think we were too hard on him…?” Martin wrung his hat in his hands and glanced over his shoulder to the shelter. “I mean… He was just trying to help, wasn’t he?”

“Mmm… Maybe. A lot goes wrong when Arthur tries to help, though.”

“I know, but…”

Douglas sighed, patting Martin’s knee. “Perhaps we owe him an apology tomorrow.”

“Yeah…” The captain looked down at Douglas’ hand, which lingered there. “I suppose we can’t blame him. We’re all desperate to get off here, aren’t we?”

Despite himself, Douglas had to stifle a smirk at the irony of Martin’s choice of words, considering the less-than-innocent plans the first officer had made. “Suppose so.” With a soft sigh, he grew serious once more. “But we will.”

“You keep saying that…”

“And I mean it.” His thumb stroked Martin’s knee gently where his hand still lay. He glanced over to see Martin watching it. The captain still looked doubtful. “And until then…”

“We have each other,” Martin finished for him softly, before laying his hat on the ground and placing a gentle hand over Douglas’. The first officer felt a pleasant warm glow in his chest at the small touch. Like an ember being fanned.

“Glad to see we’ve successfully drilled that into each other’s heads.”

That earned the first officer a tiny smile. “… There isn’t much we can do out here to be found. Maybe a message in a bottle was our best shot, anyway.”

“Finally an optimistic thought.”

“It’s hard to think optimistically out here sometimes, isn’t it…?”

“Mm…” Douglas turned his hand over, gently gripping Martin’s. “It’d help to have a distraction, wouldn’t it…?”

Martin didn’t answer right away. Douglas looked up to see him watching the FO with a conflicted, almost sad look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he finally replied, looking down at their joined hands.

“… Are you alright?” Douglas asked softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, fine…” 

The orange glow of the fire behind them contrasted the dim moonlight coming from overhead. Their eyes had had time to adjust to the dark and Douglas could see Martin perfectly, though. The older man had sat next to his captain most days of the week for about six years at MJN, and never thought much of how Martin looked during that time. He’d noted Martin’s long, almost snobbish nose, ridiculously red curly hair (that had once been only barely tamed with a generous amount of gel), high cheekbones, and wrinkle in his brow from all the frowning he had done on a daily basis. And he still had all that, he was still the Martin Douglas knew, but now the first officer had grown to see something different. His pointed nose became less snobbish and more endearing. His hair had grown a bit and become wild with curls, with no product to manage it. His cheekbones had grown more pronounced, and the wrinkles deepened slightly. His freckles were darker now from sun exposure, to the point that Douglas was sure he could sit there and count every single one. And the strange thing was, he found he wanted to.

It had started the night Martin and Arthur had gotten drunk, and Douglas got the chance to see the captain fall asleep right in front of him. Looking back, he supposed that was the first time he had wanted to kiss Martin, but he had shoved the thought back as soon as it entered his mind. Until the night he found Martin by the stream, had held him in his arms while the captain was at his most vulnerable, and it was impossible to deny anymore.

Now, Douglas watched Martin’s profile. The FO’s eyes traced over the frown lines and curve of his cheekbones, caught a glimpse of the speckles covering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, even in the dim light. He saw the mess of curls on Martin’s head and wanted nothing more than to comb his fingers through them and sooth away that troubled look on his face.

All of it fanned the ember. Now he knew he was in trouble. Now he wanted more than a distraction, and that was a frightening feeling. It was familiar, it was something he had felt before for people who were destined to leave him, and this was someone he didn’t want to go.

 _It doesn’t need to be that way, though,_ the first officer thought to himself. _You can still be just a distraction for him, if he wants you._

Martin looked up at Douglas again, eyes searching his face, like there was something he was trying to figure out, too. A sigh escaped Douglas.

_How did you let it get this far, Richardson?_

_Islands are lonely places._

“Bed?” Douglas’ voice was softer than he meant for it to be. He offered Martin a crooked smile before getting up, and his hand slipped from Martin’s grip.

“I’ll be there in a moment…”

Arthur had taken the far side of the shelter, curled into a ball and snoozing peacefully. Douglas gave Martin’s back one last glance before taking the middle spot on the ground of the hut, laying on his side away from the sleeping steward. He closed his eyes, trying to get some sleep. Five minutes later, he heard and felt Martin crawling in next to him.

After several moments of silence, Douglas dared to open his eyes, and when he did he saw Martin lying on his back with his head turned to stare at him. The same conflicted look was on his face, and he turned over onto his side, bringing him closer to the first officer. Douglas could feel his warmth.

They said nothing. Outside the hut, crickets chirped and waves crashed on the sand. Like the night Martin had gotten drunk, they just watched each other, as if memorizing the other’s face. But this time, they were closer. Very close. Douglas didn’t even realize how close exactly until he saw Martin’s eyes slide shut and felt his lips on his own, barely even leaning in.

The ember in Douglas’ chest burst into flames. Martin’s hands found his neck. Douglas felt suddenly desperate, as if he could cry, and returned his kiss.

“D-Do you want to, um… go back outside, with me…?” Martin whispered when the kiss reluctantly broke. He glanced behind Douglas, where Arthur was still sleeping.

“Anything you want.”

Martin let out a breath. “I do want…”

“I do, too.”

“Oh, good…”

And then Martin was sitting up, dragging Douglas out of the shelter and down the shore to the stream. 

*****

Martin refused to look around as he tugged Douglas along behind him. His heart was pounding, and he was sure Douglas could feel his hand shaking. _What am I doing? Oh god…_

As soon as they cleared the boulder patch, he was pinning the first officer up against a tree and kissing him desperately. Some part of his self-doubt was quelled when he felt Douglas reciprocate, felt his hands shake as they buried themselves in Martin’s hair, felt his heart pounding almost in time with Martin’s when they pressed up against each other.

A knee found its way between Martin’s legs. He unclenched his hands from the fabric of Douglas’ shirt, so they could move to the buttons.

“Martin…” Douglas panted between kisses. “Martin, wait…”

“Hmm…?” He didn’t want to stop kissing, didn’t want the chance of seeing any doubt in Douglas’ eyes. But Douglas cupped his face gently and pulled him away, looking at him.

“I… I have to know…” Douglas swallowed. In the dark, Martin could still tell his pupils were blown wide. “What do you want?”

Martin blinked, not understanding. “I-I mean, I thought it was… obvious—“

“I mean… I mean, what is this? To you?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer. He could be honest, but honesty might lead to rejection and more awkward avoidance, and he couldn’t deal with any more of that. But he thought he knew what it was Douglas wanted.

“You said… might be good to have a distraction… Right?” He searched Douglas’ eyes, trying to see if he gave the right answer. “I-I mean… It doesn’t have to mean anything, not out here…”

There was something odd in Douglas’ expression, like he was trying hard to keep it carefully blank, but his brow was creased. Then he let out a breath, and his face smoothed while his eyes dropped to Martin’s lips. “Right…” Arms were around the captain’s waist, pulling him in close. A kiss found his lips, then his jaw, then the shell of his ear. Douglas’ voice became a low growl. “… Then let me distract you.”

Martin shivered at the warm breath in his ear. 

_Just a distraction._ Right now, Martin thought he could live with that.

And the first officer was very good at distracting. Martin was so preoccupied by the mouth on his ear and hands roaming over his body that he almost didn't notice when they’d sunken to the ground, or how their clothes came to lie discarded beneath them. He turned his head to kiss Douglas properly on the mouth, tugging the first officer over on top of him like he had the first night they did this.

But unlike that night, Douglas didn’t rush through this. He was deliberate, taking his time. He let Martin move against him, let him find pleasure in the friction against his hip; Let his hands roam over the younger man – over his back, arse, thighs, hips – before he slipped a hand down to cup him gently. The more he touched, the more Martin felt an embarrassing sound climbing up his throat, ready to escape him. He leaned his head back, away from the kiss, and bit his lip. Douglas pressed a kiss to his chin, watching his expression.

“Is that good…?”

Martin let out a pent-up breath. “Ah- Mhm…”

“Then let me know…” Douglas kissed down his throat, down the captain’s chest, before his lips found Martin’s nipple. Martin arched into the attention. “And that?”

“Yes…”

“Good to know…” His tongue swirled and flicked. Martin’s breath quickened as tiny sparks of pleasure went straight to his groin, but he was still holding back, and Douglas could tell. “Tell me what you like, Martin…” He grazed his teeth gently over the sensitive skin. The captain shuddered.

“That…”

Douglas hummed, bringing up the hand that had been fondling Martin to tease his other nipple. The captain bucked his hips up in protest. “I’ll get back to that, don’t you worry.” He pressed his body down between Martin’s legs, pinning him down so he couldn't writhe too much, but putting enough pressure on his hips that he could feel his own pulse rushing blood to his erection.

Douglas’ callous fingers rubbed gently still at one of Martin’s nipples while his mouth moved up, pressing kisses to his skin as he went. “Tell me what else…”

“God, anything, anything, just…” He tried to lift his hips, but Douglas’ weight was still holding him down.

“That won’t do,” the first officer murmured against the warm skin of his neck. “I want to hear you say it.” He licked a stripe up to Martin’s ear, feeling the captain shudder beneath him. “I have all night…”

Martin took in a deep breath. His face was crimson. “There… There’s a spot, b-below my ear…”

“Mmm, here…?” The first officer placed a kiss on Martin’s jaw.

“Almost, a bit…” He took in a gasp and practically melted. “There…”

“Sensitive…?” Douglas left gentle kisses on the spot before flicking out his tongue, hot breaths ghosting over the skin. His heart was pounding at the feeling of Martin arching up into him, falling apart slowly in his arms.

“Yes…” Martin’s voice was a bit higher than normal. He bit his lip in embarrassment. “I-I want… Um…” His hands had been clutching at Douglas’ arms - He was unsure what else to do with them – but now he slid one down Douglas’ chest, towards his navel.

Douglas flinched. Martin’s eyes blinked open.

“Are you… ticklish?”

“Absolutely not,” Douglas protested breathlessly, silencing the captain with another kiss. “Now tell me what it is you wa-AHAH!” He reached down, grabbing Martin’s hands. The younger man grinned up at him.

“You are!” His smile was so wide, breaking the tension that had hung over them. Douglas couldn’t have been mad if he wanted to.

“Congratulations, Captain. You’ve found my one weakness.” With a playful smirk, he pinned Martin’s hands above his head. “Now then.” He reclaimed the kiss, trying to smother the captain’s insufferable smile. “What is it you want…?”

Finally the grin faded, as Martin leaned up to kiss him more hungrily. “Wanted to… t-to touch…”

“Well, I think you’ve lost that privilege for now.” Douglas raised an eyebrow. Martin let out a huff of breathless laughter. He seemed to loosen up the more the first officer joked with him, and there was something remarkably sexy about a happy, almost-relaxed Martin Crieff. “But…” Pulling away just enough to look the captain in the eye, Douglas shifted his hips, causing the right amount of friction. Martin took in a stuttering breath. “How’s that…?”

Martin shifted against him and nodded. “Mhm…”

Douglas’ hips thrust forward. “Say it, then…”

“Yes…”

It was such a simple thing, friction between them both that would have gotten a teenager off maybe, but somehow, watching Martin’s face contort with pleasure and his back arch while Douglas restrained him, the first officer felt himself get closer and closer the more he moved. Thinking about having Martin again ever since their first tumble in the leaves, the anticipation had compromised the first officer's otherwise considerable stamina. And Martin looked just as far gone. 

“Martin…” Douglas panted softly, letting his hands trail down the captain’s arms, before he braced himself up on his elbows. Martin’s hands moved down to the FO's arse, gripping and pulling him closer with every slow rocking of hips. And Douglas watched him, admiring every silly, perfectly imperfect detail of Martin Crieff. 

The captain’s ankles hooked over Douglas’ calves, and he thrust up to meet the first officer’s hips. “Fuck…”

Douglas buried his face in Martin’s neck. His movements got a little rougher, enough to heighten the pleasure for them both.

_“Fuck…”_

Martin rarely ever swore, and the thought that Douglas was the one causing it nearly drove the older man over the edge. But what had really done it was glancing at his captain’s face once more, at the complete look of abandon as the ginger arched up from under him, breath coming in ragged gasps, face red and brow covered in a thin veil of sweat. It all became too much once he heard him say his name.

_“Douglas…!”_

The first officer reached a hand down, taking both their lengths in his fist and pumping until they both came with a gasp - Martin crying out softly, sounding so utterly vulnerable and pleasured, and Douglas following soon after with a muffled groan.

They caught their breath, and Douglas rolled lazily off the captain. This time, Martin didn’t run away.

“Good…?” the FO panted.

Martin nodded, letting out an awkward laugh. “Yeah… Good.”

“Good.” Douglas returned his smile.

*****

Arthur woke up shivering. It was still dark out, and he could smell the smoke from the fire that had burnt down to glowing embers.

Usually, when he was cold at night, he’d turn and nuzzle into someone’s back, depending on who was closest to him. But it seemed the reason he was cold tonight was because there was no one else there to share body heat with. He was alone.

He blinked at the empty spaces beside him as he slowly came out of the haze of sleep. How late was it? Where did Douglas and Martin go? He sat up and looked out of the hut, but they weren't sitting where they had been before. They were just… gone.

“… Skip? Douglas?”

_Maybe they went to sleep somewhere else,_ he thought, feeling his heart start to hammer. He was beginning to feel scared. 

_But why would they do that?_

“M-Martin…?”

_Well, they were pretty upset with you about the bottle. Silly thing to do. Dolt._

“Douglas…!”

Arthur swallowed a growing lump in his throat, laying back down and covering himself with some palm leaves.

_I just wanted to help._

_No one likes when you help though, do they?_

Arthur thought back to just about every time his well-intentioned plans had caused situations to get worse, and he couldn’t deny that was true.

_Maybe they left forever. Maybe they left you behind._

These were the most terrible thoughts that he had had while they were on the island. He got sad sometimes, sure, but this was strange. His chest hurt, breathing got a bit more difficult, terrible thoughts began to circle in his mind and he couldn’t organize them. Not that he was ever good at sorting out his thoughts. 

He wondered if this was how Skip felt when he told Arthur no one would miss him, or how Douglas felt when he panicked and pushed them away.

Except now, for him, he was alone.

Martin had wanted to be alone, and so did Douglas when he was upset. But Arthur didn’t like it. Not one bit.

If the pilots didn’t want to be around him tonight, he couldn’t blame them. Much as he wanted to go searching for them, to make sure they didn’t run away forever, he stopped himself.

_They’ll be back. They’ll come back. Douglas said we had each other. They wouldn’t leave, don’t be silly._

It had been years since Arthur Shappey felt sad enough to cry. But now, curling into himself and covering his mouth, he couldn’t stop a sob from escaping him.

*****

Martin pulled on his shirt and began to do up the buttons. Beside him, Douglas was pulling up his pants.

“So…” The captain bit his lip.

“So.” Douglas looked at him expectantly.

“Is this… I mean… You can say no, obviously, that’d be fine, but… C-Could we, maybe… do this again? Sometime?”

He didn’t have to look up to hear the smirk in Douglas’ voice. “I was rather hoping we could, yes.”

“Right. Alright. Good.” Martin blushed profusely. “I-I mean, like I said, it doesn’t need to… be anything, just—just a good… distraction. Right?”

“Right…”

Martin dusted the dirt off of himself. “Good…”

“If you’re comfortable with that.”

Finally, he looked up at Douglas, albeit briefly. “Yeah, yes, I am. I-If you are, that is.”

“Mm, very.” The first officer let out a huge yawn. “But now, I’m rather exhausted. Come along, Captain.” He touched Martin’s back gently as he walked by him. The captain followed him back to bed, feeling equal parts tired and jittery, hesitant and eager.

Half way over the boulders, though, Douglas paused ahead of him.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” They both stopped to listen. From the direction of the shelter, a soft hiccupping sound could be heard over the usual nighttime island noises. “Is that…?” Martin rushed ahead of Douglas.

“Arthur…?” The captain spoke softly as he approached the shelter. Their steward looked up with a start from where he lay curled.

“Oh! Skip! You’re back! Oh good!” His voice was uncharacteristically hoarse as he wiped his eyes with his palms and sat up.

Martin crawled in beside his friend, and Douglas peered in behind him. “Arthur, are you… crying?”

“No! Well… I’m okay, sorry.” He pulled the captain into a tight embrace, and Martin didn’t fight it. “Just glad you’re back!”

“What happened, Arthur?” Douglas asked, concern clear in his voice.

The tightness with which Arthur clung to his friend gave Martin an idea about what might have happened. His heart sank as he returned the steward’s hug.

“Nothing, nothing happened! Just… um…” Finally, he released Martin from his death grip. “You chaps were gone, and I guess I just got… nervous. Which is silly, of course! I mean, why wouldn’t you come back? Silly…”

“You thought we left you…?” Martin exchanged a guilty glance with Douglas.

“I think I knew you didn’t really, but…” Arthur rubbed his sternum, his heart still aching a bit. “I guess… You were both mad, weren’t you? Not that I blame you – I really am sorry about the bottle! – but I woke up, and you two were gone and… I’m a bit of a dolt, aren’t I?”

Martin sighed softly. “I think we’re the dolts this time…”

“Scooch over,” Douglas murmured, and the other two men moved to give him room on Arthur’s other side. “Now, Arthur, I want to make something very clear: None of us is going anywhere. Not without the other two, at least.”

“And if we do leave, we’ll tell you, and we will be back,” Martin added.

“Understood?”

Arthur looked between his two friends, wiping the last of the tears from his face and nodding. A tiny smile found his lips at last. “Right. Thanks, chaps.”

That night, as the steward slept sandwiched between his two friends, Martin and Douglas gave each other a few last guilty looks.

*****

The next morning, the two pilots had a slightly embarrassing discussion about their activities, and whether they should continue. Both seemed reluctant to go celibate now, but they had to make sure what happened to Arthur didn't happen again. And at the same time, without alert the steward to their activities. It reminded Douglas of his first marriage, when Verity was young and began sleeping in their bed after a few nightmares, and decided to make a habit of it. He and her mother had to convince her to begin sleeping in her own bed again (without knocking at their door in the middle of the night), and it was a surprisingly difficult task that led to a couple of embarrassing incidents. Eventually, she grew out of it, with the help of a cartoon-themed nightlight Douglas convinced her would protect her from any bad dreams or monsters.

However, on an island, there were no nightlights, and there was always a crushing loneliness when your only human contact was two other men. Douglas wasn’t surprised Arthur had gotten so anxious.

Martin had a simple plan: They tell Arthur when they were leaving, and when to expect them back.

“And if he asks where we’re going?” Douglas asked.

“We tell him… we’re looking for food.”

“And if he tries to join us? What will we tell him then?”

Martin sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not sure. Maybe we can give him more duties around camp, and we take on food duties?”

“That won’t work, he loves gathering and fishing. He would have made a wonderful nomad, in a past life.”

“We could just… tell him. N-Not everything, of course, but tell him… we need to be alone.”

“He might get curious.”

“Then we say it’s a- a secret, or... I don't know. We have to tell him something, we can’t go sneaking off again and have him thinking we’ve abandoned him…”

Douglas sat thoughtfully for a moment. “Perhaps… we tell him part of the truth, like you said. We need to be alone, to do something together. And so he doesn’t feel excluded, we have something each of us can do specifically with him. Like bonding.”

“So we go off and…” Martin gestured vaguely, blushing. “And then later on, ask him if he needs help fishing or something?”

“That way, he won’t feel abandoned, and we’ll get our own _bonding time.”_

Martin glared at Douglas weakly. “… I suppose that might work.”

“Yes. By the way, I should mention I’m very flattered you’re willing to go through such lengths to continue our little rendezvouses. Though, I’ll admit I’m very—“

“Yes, alright, enough!” Martin shoved at Douglas’ shoulder. The first officer thought he caught sight of an embarrassed smile, though.

*****

Their plan seemed to go off well, once they explained things to Arthur. The younger man understood, though he was a little curious about why they needed to be alone, and he agreed enthusiastically when they mentioned fishing or exploring with him. He even promised to try making up games for them all to play. Martin and Douglas weren’t terribly enthusiastic about that, but when there was little to do on the Island, perhaps it would be another (more innocent) distraction for them all.

Another two weeks had passed since their arrangement had been made. Martin and Douglas went off every other night or so, usually when their thoughts were turning particularly unhappy and they needed the comfort of intimacy. Douglas would whisper a suggestion into Martin’s ear before bed, or Martin would shyly ask if Douglas wanted to meet him by the stream after dinner. The more time they spent alone like that, the more they got comfortable and familiar with each other. Some nights, Martin would take charge, and after a few clumsy practice rounds he became very good. Their choices were limited as to what they could do without any proper lubrication or protection, but they learned to make the most of it.

Nice as it was, though, there was always the feeling that something was missing. They both felt it, though they never told the other. Sometimes Martin would break from a kiss and just look at Douglas, and the first officer would feel a pang of something in his chest that had nothing to do with his racing heart. Other times, Martin would hear Douglas cut himself off before he said something in the heat of the moment, and he wondered what he was going to say. And at some point, it became less about reaching climax, more about the kissing and holding and the closeness. More than once, they almost fell asleep in each other’s arms before even getting off.

And Douglas knew that this was dangerous territory. He told himself it was the solitude getting to them both, and if they ever got home it would likely have to end. But he couldn’t bear to give it up now.

One evening, he saw Martin on the shore, sitting. Just sitting there. He didn’t look particularly lovely, he wasn’t doing anything noteworthy, but Douglas looked at his freckled, sunburned back and felt such overwhelming fondness for his captain that it nearly made him sigh. And he knew then, he was fucked.

So no point trying to fight it, was there?

Martin turned his head when he heard Douglas approaching, and the first officer sat right behind him on the sand, scooching forward until the ginger man was sat right between his legs. He wrapped his arms around his confused captain and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

Martin glanced quickly behind him. “Arthur might…” he muttered.

“He’s asleep.”

“Oh…” The captain blinked, turning to face forward again. “Did you want to…?”

“Mm, perhaps not tonight.” Douglas nuzzled the back of his neck, and Martin tipped his head forward a bit.

“So just…” He laid his arms over the first officer’s, which were wrapped securely around his torso. “This?”

“Just this…” Douglas spoke softly by his ear. “If that’s alright.”

“No, no it’s… fine.” Martin leaned back against the body behind him, and for once, it sounded like he meant it.

Arthur, however, wasn’t as asleep as the two thought. He shuffled over to the shelter opening to call his two friends to bed, but stopped himself when he saw them sitting on the shore together.

The steward’s initial reaction was happiness. He’d never seen Douglas and Skip get along so well! The two looked so happy all cuddled up together, which was brilliant! And had he not been on an island for two months, his thoughts would not have strayed any farther than that.

But now, looking at the two of them so content in each other’s presence, he began to feel a bit… unneeded. Like he was intruding on something he really shouldn’t be. He wasn’t sure what he was anxious about, but perhaps it had something to do with the fear he felt that night he thought they left.

_But they’re happy. It’s so hard to be happy out here, and they haven’t been happy since we crashed, so that’s brilliant!_

It was silly to feel as sad as he did. So, he’d simply have to learn not to be. With a small, forced smile, he turned back into the hut and went to bed.

*****

“Good morning, Arthur,” Martin yawned as he exited the hut and made his way to the fire pit, where the steward sat.

“Morning, Skip!” All trace of the conflicted emotions Arthur felt the night before were gone, and replaced with his usual cheeriness. He offered Martin a bit of food. “Coconut?”

Martin took the fruit and sat beside him. “Ready to go foraging? I’d like to get out before too late, so we’re not walking in the sun for very long. It doesn’t look like there’ll be much cloud cover today.”

“Oh, that’s alright, Skip, I can do it on my own!”

Martin blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I know my way around enough, I don’t get lost anymore. Should be fine!”

“But I thought you… liked having company.”

“Oh, I do! But I know you’d rather not, so it’s fine. Especially since Douglas will be at camp all day working on those ropes he’s making.”

“What does Douglas working on ropes have to do with it?”

“Well, I know you’d rather do things with him than me. Which is fine! I don’t mind getting food alone, I’m used to it.” 

Had that come from anyone else it would have sounded like a guilt trip, but knowing Arthur, he was genuinely trying to convince Martin that it was okay. And knowing that, it made Martin feel even guiltier.

“You think I’d rather be around Douglas than you?”

“Yeah, but you make each other happy! So that’s brilliant!” His smile was just a bit too forced. He was always a terrible liar.

Martin stared at the steward for a moment, before clearing his throat. “If it’s all the same, Arthur, I’d rather go with you today.”

Arthur looked up in surprise. “… Really?”

“Yes. I think it’d be nice. Just you and me.”

“Oh… Brilliant!”

*****

“You’re distracted.”

“Hmm?”

Douglas trailed his lips up the side of Martin’s neck, before muttering by his ear. “You’re tense.” He ran his hand up Martin’s arm to his shoulder, rubbing gently and pulling back to look at him. “If you’d rather not tonight, it’s fine.”

“Oh… No, sorry, just…” Martin waved his hand vaguely. “Bit… worried, I suppose.”

“As you often are.” The first officer rolled off Martin, but didn’t look too put-out. They lied side by side, staring up at the forest canopy above. “Care to elaborate, though?”

“I feel… guilty. Doing this.” He turned his head and saw Douglas looking at him confusedly. “… Leaving Arthur behind, you know.”

Douglas’ brow furrowed more, and he leaned up on an elbow. “Martin… If you’re suggesting we stop, upset as I’d be, I’d respect that. But if you’re suggesting we somehow… include him—“

Martin eyes widened. “NO! No, god, no, sorry, that’s—That’s not what I meant, no.” He cringed at the thought.

Douglas let out a relieved sigh and lied back down. “Good.”

“It’s just… He told me the other day that he thought I liked being around you more than him.”

“Mm…” Douglas rolled closer to Martin, pressing his lips to the younger man’s shoulder. “Being around me does come with added benefits. But I understand the concern. He said something similar to me, too.”

Martin turned his head, and his nose brushed the first officer’s hair. “I think he feels like a third wheel. Or like we’re going to… I dunno, abandon him.”

“I think the worst thing that could happen to any of us at this point is abandonment, when there are only the three of us around.”

Martin hummed in agreement, closing his eyes. “But that won’t happen.”

“No…” Douglas wrapped an arm around Martin’s middle. “We need each other, don’t we?” He felt Martin nod against his hair, and tilted his head to look at the captain.

“… You ever think about what we’re going to do?” Martin whispered. “If… When we get back?”

“I imagine you’d try for another flying job somewhere. You’ve been out of the skies far too long.”

The captain grinned weakly. “Probably…” He turned his head to look at the trees above them, his smile fading. “But who’d hire a man who crashed a plane…?”

“You mean, ‘Who’d hire a man who successfully landed a broken plane in the water and managed to keep his entire crew alive for months with no other human contact?’ You’d be surprised how impressive that can sound on a resume, if worded correctly.”

Martin scoffed, but his cheeks grew warm. “Even if I did get a job, though… I’d probably never be a captain again.”

“You’ll always be a captain.”

Martin glanced over at his first officer with a suppressed grin. “This island’s turned you soft.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe I’m just nicer than you give me credit for.”

The captain’s grin became less suppressed. “What about you? What will you do when we get back?”

Douglas sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. “… This island has caused enough damage, I think I might make a profit off it.”

“What, are you going to sue the island?” Martin joked.

“No. I might write a book.”

“You write?”

“Well, I’ve never really written professionally. But I imagine, like most things, I’d be fantastic at it.”

Martin chuckled. “I hope you won’t write about… everything that’s happened here…”

“Mm, no, I think some things that happen on the Island should stay on the Island.” The FO spoke those words into the side of Martin’s neck, laying gentle kisses just below the captain’s ear. Martin’s grin fell from his face slowly.

_What happens on the Island should stay on the Island._

If they ever got home, Douglas wouldn’t need Martin to be his distraction anymore. He wouldn’t need the younger man once they reached civilization.

And then Martin would be more alone than ever.

Swallowing a growing lump in his throat, Martin turned over and pulled Douglas into a kiss. Right now, he needed a distraction from his thoughts.

*****

Sleep was hard to find when Arthur was alone. He wasn’t as anxious as he had been the first time, now that he had some warning before his friends left and reassurance that they’d be back, but it was still hard to feel safe enough to fall asleep without company.

So he decided not to sleep. Crawling out of the hut, he lied back on the sand and occupied himself by watching the stars. Tonight was a clear night, and there were so many more stars here than there were at home. Douglas had said it was because there weren’t so many lights out here or pollution or something. When the explanation got a bit too technical Arthur couldn’t quite follow. Whatever the reason, the night sky over the Island was always brilliant, even if the Island itself had become less and less so to the steward.

And tonight there was a meteor shower! Arthur’s grin grew every time he saw a tiny streak of light zip through the sky and disappear. He tried counting them all – _One, two, three_ – but around 48 he lost track. When he grew bored of that, he looked at all the flickering stars above and tried to remember his stargazing books he’d look through as a kid. He couldn’t remember for the life of him what the constellations were, but he could make up his own.

Like that one. That one looked like a rabbit, if he squinted. And an aeroplane. And there was a dog. If he imagined hard enough, it even looked like Snoopadoop!

But then Snoopadoop winked. Arthur blinked up in confusion. The constellation’s left eye disappeared, then reappeared a little to the right. The steward stared at it in fascination.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Across the sky, ever rightward.

Blink.

_Wait._

Arthur’s jaw dropped and he scrambled to his feet. “SKIP! DOUGLAS!!”

The excited steward had managed to climb over most of the boulder patch before he saw his friends running out from the forest. They both looked a little ruffled, but he didn’t notice.

“PLANE!!” He pointed up at the sky with a grin so wide it looked painful.

The two pilots stared in shock up at the blinking light, before Martin was running and scrambling over the rocks to get back to camp. Douglas followed after them. “Is the fire lit!? Light the fire! Go, Arthur!”

“It’s already lit, Skip!”

“Then get it brighter!” Douglas called from behind them, before he stumbled over and let out a yell. “GAH! FUCK!”

“Douglas!” The two other men rushed over to him where he lay on the jagged ground, grimacing. But the first officer urged them back with a waving hand.

“GO!!”

Giving him one last worried glance, the captain and steward rushed back to the fire pit. Martin knew deep down that this was a longshot, for a plane that high up to spot any light from their tiny island. But they had to try.

“Alright, um… Leaves! Arthur, I-I need dry leaves! Lots of them!”

“Right!” Arthur ran off to the hut, where old, dried palm leaves laid scattered as bedding. In the fire pit, a few small embers were still burning, but it wasn’t much. Martin collected as many small, flammable twigs as he could, and began feeding the fire.

“Wait!” The captain fished into his pockets, remembering the lighter Douglas had given him. He nearly dropped it trying to flick it open, but once he had a tiny flame, he used it to catalyze their fire.

“More, Arthur! We need more! Hurry!” Martin ordered as Arthur returned with armfuls of palm leaves. The steward rushed back and forth, bringing him as many as he could find.

When they had enough burning leaves, they gave the fire twigs, and when there were enough twigs and the flames grew, they fed it logs. On Martin’s order, Arthur quickly shrugged off his vest and used it to fan the growing pyre.

They managed to get a pile about a meter high of flaming branches and logs. At some point during the panic, they’d even thrown in the wooden crate they had saved. (Though, thankfully, it had been quickly emptied beforehand.) A wind blew at their bonfire, causing it to sputter out smoke that billowed up high above the trees.

Martin’s wide, anxious eyes scanned the sky, searching for the plane, for the only tiny, blinking light of hope they had seen in 10 weeks. His heart hammered, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

Far off in the sky to the south, he made out the faint flickering blips of light. But it was miles away now. He felt his heart sink to his feet as he himself sunk to his knees.

It had been a long shot, catching the eye of some people 30,000 feet above them with a campfire. But in the rush of adrenaline, he allowed himself to hope.

“M-Maybe they did see us! Maybe they’re radioing someone!”

“They didn’t see us, Arthur…” Martin’s voice was hoarse with dry sobs.

Behind them, they heard a grunt of pain and a curse. Martin scrambled shakily to his feet and went to Douglas, who was limping heavily over to them and leaving a trail of dark stains in the sand. The FO slung an arm over his captain’s shoulder and let him lead him to a place to sit.

“Let me see.” Martin’s hands shook as he gingerly inspected Douglas’ foot in the firelight. Spanning the length of the bottom of his foot was a large, bleeding gash. It looked painful. The captain’s face crumbled at the sight of it. More bad news.

“Arthur! Can you… I-I need you to boil some water, quick!”

“Martin!!” Douglas yelled, pointing frantically behind the captain with wide eyes.

The wind had picked up, causing the fire to get larger and angrier. And it took its anger out on the small wooden hut a couple meters away.

Arthur and Martin tried to save what they could, but what logs and leaves they could salvage didn’t mean much when the entire structure had collapsed during their efforts.

“Arthur…” Martin didn’t even sound broken, now. He sounded pulverized, like a piece of china that had been smashed and ground into dust.

The steward ran off with their deepest pan to collect water for boiling as the captain rejoined Douglas. Martin felt Douglas take his hand. Neither of them said a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna apologize for so many things rn


	9. Fall of an Albatross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We gettin real emotional and corny in this chapter I'm so sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPECIAL THANKS TO FRACTIONALLYFOXTROT who waded through 30k+ words of my shit just to beta this chapter. She writes real good and stuff so go check her out!!

Their shelter was gone, their first officer injured, and they now had absolutely no hope of rescue. But fate was not done mocking Martin Crieff, and he knew that when he felt the first drop of rain hit his brow the next morning.

The rain that began as a soft drizzle, accompanied by dark clouds and wind that promised an oncoming downpour, did not help anyone’s mood. Cursing his luck, as he did every day he woke up on the Island, Martin got up, grabbed the raft from off by the trees where they kept it, and dragged it over to prop against the tree next to them to shelter the crew. The soft _tip-tip-tiptap-tap_ sound of water hitting their new roof surrounded them.

None of them had slept well that night, least of all Douglas. Martin had tried to tend to his wound – ripping the entire sleeve off his shirt and boiling it in the water to sanitize it, before cleaning the gash out as best he could and wrapping it to stem the flow of blood – but that didn’t stop the pain from shooting up the first officer’s leg all night. It was ten times worse than a twisted ankle, throbbing and constant as soon as the adrenaline had faded and he was able to register the pain properly. And it burned. Like he’d walked over hot coals and they’d melted into his flesh to sink deeper and deeper, up into his bones.

“How’s the foot?” The yellow from the raft reflected off the captain’s concerned face.

“I think at this point it may be easier to cut it off.” Douglas grimaced and sat up on his elbows.

“Let me take a look…” Martin crawled over to unwrap and inspect the first officer’s injury. From the look on his face, Douglas knew it must not have been pretty. The captain swallowed.

“Give it to me straight, Doc. How long do I have?”

“Stop it…” Martin didn’t seem to find the joke funny. Standing up, he grabbed the pan they had used the other night. Beside them, Arthur began to stir. “You said before you had soap, right? Where’s your bag?” Douglas pointed off to where a black overnight sack lay with their few other supplies under a tree.

With a wide yawn and stretch that encroached on the first officer’s personal space, Arthur began to show more signs of life. “Need any help, Skip?”

“No thank you, Arthur.” Martin left to gather soap and water.

Sitting up fully, Douglas fought off a feeling of dread as he watched Martin leave. Despite his better judgment – and with great effort and pain – he lifted his leg to get a view of the damage.

Instantly, he wished he hadn’t.

“Alright, Douglas?” Arthur asked, concerned.

“Fine. Perfectly fine.”

“Oh… Only, you look a bit pale right now –”

“I said _fine!”_ It came out louder and harsher than he’d meant it to. Arthur flinched.

“Oh… Alright…” The younger man looked chastised, and made to get up. “I-I think I’ll go see what Martin’s—“

“No, no wait, Arthur…” Douglas sighed and reached out a hand for him. “I— I’m sorry, please, just—Don’t go. I’d appreciate if you stayed with me, if that’s alright.”

Arthur blinked and climbed back under the raft. “Alright…”

The steward sat with his friend, holding his hand and saying nothing.

*****

Letting Martin wash out the wound was hell all over again. Only this time, with the added sting of soap.

They were unable to boil the water – The rain outside made it impossible to even consider making a fire – but Martin hoped the soap would make up for that. He washed out the shirt sleeve gauze and used it to dab the wound, before flushing it out with water. The sound of Douglas’ shaky, pained gasps mixed with the constant sound of _tip-tip-tiptap-tapping_ rain filled his ears, and he refused to look up from his task, not wanting to see the agonized grimace on Douglas’ face.

The cut was deep. It cut through callus and fat and muscle, almost to the bone. It didn’t bleed much anymore, but there was more than blood seeping from the gash that he was far more concerned about. The area around it was purple and red. Martin had always swooned at the sight of blood, but this time the gore itself wasn’t what made his stomach turn. 

“I think we should move you,” Martin said as he tied off the fabric around Douglas’ foot.

“Unless it’s to a hospital, I protest.” Douglas’ voice came out shakier than normal.

“It’d be easier for me to clean this out if we were closer to the stream.”

Douglas looked incredulous. “You want me to go _back_ over the rocks? After a rainstorm?”

“Arthur and I will take you around in the raft, won’t we, Arthur?”

“Brilliant idea, Skip!”

“I am not moving from this spot, Martin. It’s dry here, and I can’t get up without—“

“Douglas, for once will you stop being such an oppositional child!” The atmosphere was growing very tense between the two men, like a rope being pulled in a tug-of-war. Arthur slowly began to back away from the argument. “I am the _captain,_ and I will--!!”

“No, Martin, you are not!” Douglas shot back. Something in him, something that had been pulled very taut for a good number of hours by stress and fear and pain, finally snapped. He felt like he was watching himself tear Martin apart, unable to stop it. “You are not the captain! Not here! You can’t pull rank on me on a deserted _fucking_ island, and I am sick of your superiority complex! I’ve had enough of this 'captain' bollocks! The thing you were captain of is now at the bottom of the sea, and it’s not coming back, so you can climb down from your three-story-high horse and give it a rest!”

A tense silent followed Douglas’ outburst. Martin stood.

“Skip?” Arthur called after him as he left, shuffling forward to watch him walk down the beach toward the rocks.

“Let him go,” Douglas grumbled. He turned over onto his side to sulk.

Arthur glanced nervously between the two pilots. This wasn’t good. This was very, very not good.

*****

The rain didn’t last long, but in the time it poured it had cooled the air around them. It would have been refreshing, after days of harsh sunshine, but Douglas found himself shivering under their raft. Arthur was lying beside him, hoping to give him a bit of warmth, by the time Martin returned. The captain looked soaked to the bone with water, and was shivering nearly as much as his FO.

“Come on, Arthur, we need to move him.” Douglas heard Martin’s voice behind him. He didn’t argue this time as the raft was pulled away from him and Martin put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on.”

With great effort, Douglas was helped up and back down onto the raft. Martin and Arthur tugged him along down to the ocean, wading through waist-deep water over slippery rocks to bring him to the other side of the boulder patch. When they had him upright again and helped him hop one-footed to the side of the stream, Martin began removing a blanket of large palm leaves he had laid over an area about two square meters across. Underneath the leaves, the ground was significantly dryer.

 _So this is what you were doing,_ Douglas thought with a small pang of guilt. He was sat down while the other two propped the raft up onto four corner branches Martin had staked into the ground. Their new home, complete with a roof.

“Let me see your foot again.”

“You just cleaned it not two hours ago.” Douglas sounded more sullen than confrontational. Perhaps it was just Martin being neurotic, but he let him check the wound again. He could see the results mirrored on Martin’s face, however: No good developments. The first officer shivered.

The tremor caught Martin’s attention. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he reached out a hand to touch Douglas’ face. Douglas leaned into the touch before realizing that it was more clinical than affectionate.

“A bit cold, I think. Otherwise, like I could run a marathon.” 

This joke didn’t make Martin laugh, either.

“You’re warm, though… A-Arthur, feel him, does he feel warm to you?”

Arthur put a hand to Douglas’ forehead. Douglas closed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, a bit, Skip. But I think we’re a bit chilly after being in the water, so maybe he just feels that way to us? Like when you’re outside in the snow and come back and touch normal-temperature things, and they feel warm.”

Martin was silent a moment, before standing. “I’ll be right back.”

Douglas had a sinking feeling as he watched the ginger man leave. Martin returned soon enough, however, struggling to walk over the rocks with his arms full of things from their old campsite: Douglas’ flight bag, his own jacket and hat, a couple of pans. Most of which had been kept dry under the raft when the rain had happened. When Martin reached them, he plopped everything down and dug around in Douglas’ bag, pulling out his spare clothes and wrapping them around the FO’s shoulders like a blanket.

“What are you doing?”

“You need to bundle up,” Martin explained, and pushed Douglas gently onto his back. “And lie down.”

“My foot’s cut, Martin, I don’t have the flu.” There was only a hint of his aggression from their fight left over, enough that they could hear his displeasure but not enough to start another argument.

“I know, but I’d feel more comfortable if you just took it easy. Please.” Martin’s captain’s jacket was draped over Douglas’ chest, and he put his worn cap on the FO’s head for added warmth. Douglas scoffed.

*****

“How are you feeling?”

“Martin, this has to be the tenth time in an hour you’ve asked me that. The answer hasn’t changed. Now please go to sleep.”

Martin sat up beside Douglas. Arthur was on the other side of the new shelter, sleeping soundly as always. In the dark, the first officer saw his captain wring his hands nervously.

“Sorry…”

Silence, broken only by the babbling stream and slow slosh of calm waves, hung between them for several moments. Martin clearly wasn’t ready to sleep. Douglas sighed.

“Martin, listen…” The first officer attempted to sit up, but the other pilot was quick to push him back down with a firm touch.

“No, no no, lie back, don’t—“

Douglas let out a huff of breath, but complied. “… Look, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I didn’t mean what I said, I hope you know that. I just…” His voice got a bit lower, enough that Martin had to struggle to hear him. “I was frightened. After the plane and… with my foot being how it is…” He swallowed. “I suppose I get cruel when I’m afraid, something like an injured animal. I don’t know what’s going to happen now, so I…” A silence hung between them as they both tried not to contemplate what may happen now. “… But I didn’t mean it.”

“You don’t need to be frightened. Arthur and I are going to take care of you, and you’re going to be fine. You might end up having a nasty scar, but—“

“Martin…” Douglas reached out to cover the captain’s mouth with a hand gently. The younger man fell silent. “Come here.”

Hesitantly, Martin lied back beside his copilot. In the dim light, Douglas saw the crease of his frown lines and the poorly-concealed worry in his eyes. The hand that had covered his mouth was now on the captain’s cheek, callous thumb stroking slowly over his cheekbone.

“I think we both need to relax for a moment.”

Martin swallowed. “I panic, you know that, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be okay. I-I know you will be, I just…”

“I know.” Douglas reached up his other hand to remove the captain’s hat on his head, placing it on top of its rightful owner’s. “I’ll try not to worry as much myself. I’m safe in your capable hands, Captain.”

Martin’s wide eyes stared back at Douglas as a small, shaky smile curved his lips. “… You were never this wonderful before the island.”

“Actually, I’ve always been wonderful, you’re just seeing it now. Hardly my fault you’ve been blind to my charm.”

Martin let out a huff of choked laughter. “I’m almost glad we’re… Well, no, I’m not _glad,_ but… I-I like seeing you like this.” 

Looking at his captain, with his ridiculously speckled face and tangled hair, his eyes that were wide and blue and misty with wonderment, his beautiful, chapped lips that curved into the tiniest hint of a smile, Douglas had to admit he liked seeing Martin like this too. The younger man was terrified, but he was also happy just to be near him. He’d seen so much of Martin that he’d never seen before the island, and much more than just skin.

And right now, he saw Martin’s eyes flutter closed as he leaned in to press their lips softly together. They kissed at a slow pace, nothing like how they usually kissed out here by the stream. Their lips met and parted at a steady rhythm, their breaths soft but shaky. Martin inched closer to the other man until he was pulled in close.

When Martin’s shaky breath devolved into soft sobs, Douglas found he was in much the same state. Their kiss finally broke as they clung to each other, trembling.

“Christ, Martin, I want to go home…” Douglas faintly realized he sounded like a child, but he couldn’t be arsed to care. “I want to go home…”

Martin nodded against his shoulder, holding back despaired gasps. “I know, Douglas, I know…”

“I just want to hold my daughters again…”

“I-I’m going to get you home, I promise.” The words were spoken into Douglas’ shirt, and soothing hands caressed his back.

*****

There’s another near-death experience one always hears about, but that’s only when the victim who has lived it survives to tell. Douglas thought it was always an old cliché, seeing your life flash before your eyes. But that’s what happened.

It started with glimpses of childhood memories. He could remember his mother’s face so vividly, like he was there, being cradled in her protective arms again. His father wasn’t around enough for him to recall his face quite so perfectly, but he had seen his back exiting the door often enough to remember that.

He had friends, plenty of friends as a child, and he never really had to do much to earn the respect of others. He simply commanded it, even from a young age. Everyone’s mother trusted Little Dougie (God, he hated being called that, though), whether he rightfully earned that trust or not, and he always managed a convincing lie to get him and his friends out of trouble. Into his teen years, he discovered his talents in coercion also worked on teachers.

His later teen years were also when he discovered women. And men, though that detail had to remain a secret for a good many years. Perhaps he didn’t have a thousand lovers, like he’d told Martin, but enough people throughout his lifetime that he’d lost count. Douglas liked to think it was because he was simply so irresistible, but while being suave and dashing played a role in it, he’d had his heart broken often enough to know it wasn’t enough to keep them around. Upon first meeting Douglas, most of his paramours had been utterly charmed by him. But over time, after they got to know him, they would grow disillusioned. 

His teen years were also when he’d discovered alcohol.

It started out harmless enough: Being the social creature he was, Douglas attended a party or two, and occasionally got sloshed. For the most part, it didn’t interfere with school or obligations, and if it did he managed to get out of most situations scott-free with a bit of wit and cunning.

But then university happened. Knowing his luck, Douglas was sure he could take on any profession he wanted and excel in it, so he chose something that paid well and came with an impressive title: Dr. Douglas Richardson. Not to mention, med school was full of smart, attractive men and women to flirt with. 

However, used to getting good grades on sheer charisma, university was a bit of a cold bucket of water being splashed in his face. The partying continued, but the drinking wasn’t reserved for just those times. Some professors liked him, certainly, but even his best tricks couldn’t make up for his slipping marks. Especially when he’d shown up to class hungover far too many times.

Douglas flunked out.

He’d had plenty of failures, if he was perfectly honest with himself (which he often wasn’t), but this was one of the most devastating so far. He found comfort in the one friend who had screwed him over in the first place, but the one friend who wouldn’t leave him: A bottle.

But med school was done and over, and the young Douglas had to find something else to reclaim his reputation. Another career that would give him respect, a fancy title, possibly a uniform. Something that sounded impressive while chatting up someone at a bar. And he’d always been fond of planes.

“Captain Douglas Richardson” had a nice ring to it. Douglas would have to work his way up to that title, but he was sure he would only have to suffer with “First Officer” for a short time before he got there. In the meantime, he’d see the world, and all the lovely stewardesses who were in it. His luck appeared to be returning when he restricted his drinking a bit more. Right after getting his license he somehow managed to land a job with Air England, and after some years of working under his captains (and _working under_ a few stewardesses), it wasn’t long before First Officer Douglas Richardson received his shiny new title of “Captain.”

And of course, “Captain” sounded an awful lot better in conversation with a girl at a bar. Or the bridesmaid at your best mate’s wedding. That was how he met Johanna.

He and Johanna had gotten on smashingly. She was a travel connoisseur, and he was a pilot. They both loved tennis, cooking, and opera. And conveniently, their hotel rooms were on the same floor. So much in common. It was like fate.

And unlike his other heartbreaks, she didn’t grow disillusioned with him after a few months. Douglas fell absolutely in love, and six months later, he made her his wife. His first of three.

Of course, he had no way of knowing two more marriages were to follow. When things started out, it was perfect. Perhaps too perfect. They were mad about each other, spontaneous, and ten months after their wedding they had a beautiful baby girl. Douglas’ life was looking up, enough so that he was too distracted by his good fortune to need a drink. Whiskey and hangovers seemed less appealing when he was not only a captain, but also a father.

But around the time Verity reached the age of 10, things began to go wrong. Well, not _wrong,_ but not right. The passion was dying, like it does for every marriage over time, but so was the love. At least, it was for Johanna. Douglas couldn’t convince her to save their marriage, and rather than a happy loving family, he now had weekends with his daughter and polite conversation with the woman who had once sworn to love him forever.

Then his first officer’s wedding had happened, and he met Margaret.

Their story was a bit less romantic. Douglas did not expect a quickie in a closet during the reception and an exchange of numbers to lead to a marriage, but around a month later he was informed that he was going to be a father for a second time, and he wasn’t sure what else to do. He liked Margaret enough, and perhaps he could love her. If nothing else, he could do the right thing.

Their wedding was where he met wife #3. Helena was Margaret’s friend, but not quite close enough of a friend to be a bridesmaid. Douglas had vaguely noted how stunning she was – About a decade younger than him, but with beautiful warm brown eyes and blond hair – but he mentally chastised himself for thinking so. Especially at his _wedding._

His and Margaret’s marriage didn’t last long after Emily was born, however. And while it did, it wasn’t his most pleasant. He loved Emily with the same intensity he loved Verity, and couldn’t say he regretted it for a second, but the constant arguing between him and his wife put too much of a strain on him. Margaret had a way of saying the cruelest things when she was mad, things that she knew would absolutely destroy him. What tiny flame of love between them Douglas had managed to foster over time, she continued to spit on.

So he began drinking again. At first, only at home or bars, but then during layovers and before work. Somehow, despite flying with hangovers – and even once buzzed, though he let his first officer take the takeoff that day – he was never caught. But he was caught with something else. Kimonos sewn into the inner lining of his jacket.

That had been the last straw, it seemed. Margaret left and took Emily. Douglas had to fight just to be allowed visitation rights. She tried convincing the judge that Douglas’ questionable moral character wasn’t healthy for a child, and Douglas was forced to attend AA meetings just to see his daughter.

He’d given up drinking, but now, with a tarnished record, it was difficult to find work in his field, and paying child support without a job was draining his funds. He became desperate for work. Desperate enough to apply at MJN.

Douglas got the job, but Carolyn Knapp-Shappey was not an easy woman to charm. He was appointed first officer, with no negotiation, and probably no chance of ascending the ranks. His captain was dull and didn’t talk a whole lot, which was incredibly _tedious_ when sitting in a flight deck for hours upon hours. Their steward was far more friendly, impossibly cheery, and incredibly dim-witted. All of these things made him far better company than the captain, however, and he and Douglas became something like friends. Enough so that, after the first officer had reconnected with Margaret’s old friend Helena in a grocery store and ended up dating her for half a year, Arthur had been invited to Douglas’ third wedding.

That captain eventually left, and Douglas was delighted. Perhaps their new pilot would be a bit more fun, and now Douglas was certain to get his old title of Captain back. Or so he was promised. But promises meant nothing when his frugal employer was able to save a few quid. She never gave Douglas details, but she did inform him that a new captain had been chosen, and he was willing to work for less than the old one. Already, the first officer resented this man.

When Douglas met Martin Crieff, his first thought was to be appalled. This man looked far too young to be his superior. He was short and ridiculous and he stuttered, and it felt unnatural that the once proud Sky God should be outranked by this tiny red-faced man. And Martin was annoying. From day one, he had to make sure everyone was aware of his authority, and he constantly criticized Douglas. It was almost patronizing, and Douglas refused to accept it.

Still, he was a far better captain than the last man, if for no other reason than he actually participated in a word game every now and then. He never won, but Douglas took some glee in that fact.

As uptight and annoying as Martin was, Douglas found himself becoming friends with his new captain. When one spent so many hours cooped up in a small flight deck with the same man every week, perhaps that was natural. One might even say he began to grow fond of him. Despite Martin’s… moments.

His memories of his time at MJN after that got a bit more specific, and more Martin-centric. He recalled every strange misadventure their airdot had had; Recalled Martin returning to them in the hot Mediterranean heat in Madrid with a ridiculous pair of aviator shades and an engineer who could imitate Spanish animals, Martin denying ever liking Christmas while he went to great lengths to recreate it in the flight deck for Arthur, chasing polar bears in the arctic just to see the amusing panic in Martin’s eyes. Martin, the man who always made it clear to everyone he met that _he_ was the captain, the supreme commander, refraining from correcting Helena to save Douglas’ pride. Martin mocking him for deceiving his wife, but then distracting him with light-hearted games when he discovered the fallout of that night. Martin awkwardly offering to take Douglas out somewhere after his third divorce was finalized, despite his limited funds, and ordering something virgin for himself when he knew Douglas couldn’t drink.

Martin Crieff never stopped being infuriating, but at some point, he stopped being a nuisance. At some point, Douglas began to enjoy his company. He enjoyed the way his slightly-too-large ears went red both when he was annoyed and when he was laughing, and the occasional playful banter between them. He liked the times when Martin wasn't so focused on being in control, and he was more of a comrade than a captain. The captain was anything but charmed by Douglas, but he still seemed to like him as well.

Despite being rather the social butterfly, Douglas supposed he had always been a lonely man. But Martin made him feel a bit less alone.

And then the crash.

And then Martin tending to his leg, Douglas fighting with him.

Martin being supportive through his breakdown.

Martin showing just how much of a captain he could really be, how he could keep his crew fed and sheltered and alive through the darkest of times. Douglas used to think it was a cruel joke of fate that he was copilot to someone like this man. Now, he couldn’t imagine getting this far without him.

It was more than the company on a lonely flight deck or a lonely island. It was more than the word games and stories distracting them both in the air and on the beach. And it was far more than needing someone to hold and kiss and help him forget where he was for just a little while. 

Martin was so much more.

_“Can you hear me? Douglas? Arthur, get me some more water, he’s burning up.”_

Memories grew into distorted, nonsensical waking dreams as time passed. Douglas vaguely noted someone dabbing his forehead with something cool and damp. Every now and then he’d find the energy to flutter his eyes open, and see a shock of red hair above concerned, sky blue eyes.

Overhead, above the ginger man, Douglas saw an old albatross struggling to stay in the air. It had been shot, and somehow Douglas felt like he was responsible. It had flown thousands of miles to get here, gliding around the world, and none of those miles mattered anymore. Douglas’ fever-addled brain saw it washing ashore and Martin picking it up to carry its burden.

He faded out of consciousness.

*****

“I-Is he still sick?” Arthur hovered, poised and ready to help in any way he could while Martin gently wiped sweat from Douglas’ brow with a cloth. 

The man before them looked like death. Last night, his fever had spiked and he woke in a panic, dazed and confused. He wasn’t speaking coherently, and the only thing Martin could do to calm him was just hold him and pet his hair while Arthur took his hand and tried to say soothing things. Douglas had been covered in sweat, and his skin was hot to the touch, but he wasn’t nearly as pale as he looked now. Skin parchment white and red-rimmed eyes, he looked more like a living skeleton than a first officer.

Martin’s voice shook. “Yes, he’s still sick.”

“How do we… Can we fix him? There must be something we can do!” The steward was growing increasingly panicked. Douglas had been unconscious for an hour, only opening his eyes every once and a while. By the end of the day the FO’s breath had grown labored, and Martin had no idea what to do. Should he bundle him up more? Should he cool him down from his fever? He’d cleaned out the wound – which grew increasingly infected and grotesque – every ten minutes now, but was it not enough? Was it too much?

“I don’t know, Arthur…” His hands were shaking as he re-wet the cloth and continued dabbing Douglas’ skin, and he shook his head. “I-I don’t know…”

“Maybe there’s some sort of cure we can find! Like in the movies, where they find special berries that can—“

“Shh shh!”

Douglas was stirring again. He’d done that a few times, and it always led to him eventually slipping out of consciousness again, but Martin needed to see him. He needed every moment he was allowed to look into those eyes, to maybe hear his voice, not knowing if it would be the last time.

The first officer made a small sound, not quite a word, but Martin responded.

“I-I’m here, we’re here, Douglas, you’re alright…” His hand stroked Douglas’ cheek gently. The skin beneath his fingertips was too warm, and rough with stubble. Arthur leaned down closer.

Douglas’ eyes landed on Martin, coming in and out of focus, then shifted to Arthur before sliding shut again. He took deeper breaths, in preparation to attempt making words, and muttered something.

“What’s that?” Martin whispered, leaning closer.

“Darl’n’…”

“I-I think he said ‘darling,’ Skip…”

Martin could almost hear the ‘thump’ of his own heart. “Darling…?”

“Ver…Verity…”

Douglas was asking for his daughters. Martin squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and swallowed.

“She’s here,” he lied. “Right here, she can see you. A-And so’s, um, Emily. They’re both here.”

“Darling…”

Martin reached out a shaky hand to find Arthur’s, urging the steward to take Douglas’ hand. “Just pretend a moment. For him…” They may not be his blood family, but right now they were the only family Douglas had. They had to be there for him. He couldn’t be alone before he…

Martin squeezed his eyes shut again, willing his tears not to fall just yet and leaning down to nuzzle the first officer’s cheek.

“Martin…” Douglas’ voice was nothing more than a weak exhalation. Martin held his hand tightly in both of his own.

“I’m here…”

“Darling…”

The captain didn’t know who Douglas thought he was talking to anymore, but he let himself pretend it was still him.

Sitting up, Martin gently slipped his hand beneath Douglas’ head and lifted it, until he was cradling Douglas in his arm. His fingers stroked gently over his first officer’s hair – Hair that had once been so perfectly kept and parted and clean, and Martin had always envied it. If he was honest, he envied a lot of things about Douglas. Even now, fading slowly before him, the captain knew this man was stronger than he could ever be.

And now he was going, wasn’t he? Oh god, he was going. Martin had tried to mentally prepare himself in the short amount of time since things had started to really go bad, but he hadn’t had time to absorb that fact. There was nothing he could do. Douglas was hanging on by a thread, and there was no way to stop it. Martin never felt so powerless.

He still had so much to tell Douglas, still had so many things they had to do. They had to get _home._

“Martin…”

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” A kiss was pressed to Douglas’ forehead, and it still felt so hot.

Douglas muttered something else, something that sounded oddly like “landing checks.” A strained smile twisted Martin’s lips.

“P-Post-landing checks complete,” he played along, stroking the hair out of Douglas’ face. “Japan’s pretty nice in the summer, isn’t it? It’s a bit hot here today, but… ‘S nicer than Fitton. I heard on the weather report it’s storming there. … I-If you like, I can take you to one of those sushi places you love. My treat.” He’d finally gotten Douglas to look at him, though it seemed like an effort for the first officer just to keep his eyes open. “I-I know you’re tired, but… I want to take you somewhere. Just the two of us.” His voice was growing increasingly choked. “You b-beat me fair and square at that ‘Cities that Start with the Letter C’ game during the flight, so… s-so I owe you…”

“Skip…” Arthur was looking over his shoulder, outside the shelter.

“Please, Douglas…”

“Skip, I… I-I think…”

“Hush…” Whatever Arthur was thinking, Martin was sure he already knew. The steward was usually slow on the uptake, but now it was obvious what was going to happen.

“No, no, Skip, I…” He stood, climbing out of the new shelter and walking down the shore. Finally, Martin looked up.

“Arthur, where are you—“ But then he stopped.

The soft cacophony of natural sounds around them – the waves breaking on the shore, the birds singing and cawing, the rustle of the leaves in the breeze – were all muted to Martin’s ears as they perked to one faint, but very particular sound.

A strange, distant whirring. A tell-tale hum. 

_Lycoming 0-320, possibly a 0-360 series engine. Commonly used in some Cessnas, Arctic Terns, helicopters…_

Looking out at the ocean with wide eyes, time slowed for Martin as he watched the miracle happen. It was difficult to make out with the setting sun blazing brightly behind it, but something dark was approaching from the horizon. His jaw flapped for a moment, nothing coming out but hoarse, muted screams, before he found his voice.

“Arthur!!”

“SKIP!!” The steward jumped up and down, and all the brightness of the smiles he’d lost after the crash seemed to return as he pointed at the craft. If this was a hallucination, they were both going crazy together. “MARTIN LOOK!!”

Martin tried to stand, but his legs lacked any strength, and the weight of Douglas in his arms kept him rooted to the spot. In his shock, one logical thought managed to enter his brain.

“ARTHUR!” he screamed. “LIGHT THE FIRE! COME GET THE LIGHTER AND LIGHT A FIRE!”

Arthur bounced on the balls of his feet before clumsily catching the lighter Martin tossed to him, and climbed over the boulder patch with the speed of an excited spider monkey.

“Fire fire fire, right, fire!” He muttered to himself. Despite their lack of hope, he and Martin had taken the effort to set up a new bonfire pit (away from their shelter), filled with everything they could find that would easily burn. By now, all the leaves and wood they found had dried in the sun, so they shouldn’t take too long to set on fire. Arthur skidded down to his knees beside the pit, hands shaking in excitement as he flipped open the lighter.

_Click._

…

He opened it again. _Click._

The grin that took up half his face fell slowly as he continued to try to light the lighter. Nothing but tiny, brief sparks came out.

Empty.

“No…” He shook his head, trying again and again and again. “No…! Oh! Oh this isn’t good!”

The sound of the whirring continued in the distance, like a timer ticking down. Arthur was half ready to cry with panic. But then his brain reminded him that there were other ways to make a fire.

Over by the old pit, they had a stick and hollowed out half-log they usually used to start these. He scrambled to his feet and brought it back to the new pit, filling it with some coconut fibers like Douglas had shown him.

A gust of wind blew, the leaves around him rustled, and he couldn’t hear the whirring very well. Somehow, that was worse than hearing it. With shaking hands, he rubbed the stick between his hands against the wood, trying to heat up the tinder.

“Come on… Come on…” He sounded hoarse and desperate. 

Douglas would have been able to start this fire in time. Douglas would have been able to fix this. Douglas was brilliant, he wasn’t a useless dolt like Arth—

“Oh!” Finally, some smoke. Arthur rubbed more frantically at the stick, until the tinder was smoking enough for him to put in the fire pit and blow gently. Not too hard, not enough to put it out, just like he’d been shown. He wasn’t going to ruin this. He wasn’t.

He wasn’t! The fire was growing! 

“AHA!” Arthur fanned it more. “Brilliant! Come on! Come on come on come on!!”

The light was fading in the sky, but his fire was growing and growing, and the more he fed it the more it grew. It had been like the other night, only this time, he wasn’t failing. This time, he looked off at the helicopter and he saw it turn around.

Falling to his knees, Arthur raised his fists above his head and yelled in triumph.

*****

Martin had always had a great love of planes, but the moment he saw that helicopter turn around, there was never a more beautiful aircraft to have graced the skies.

At first, as he watched salvation nearing them, he could do nothing. He felt nothing. Well, he was sure he felt something, but his brain was still sorting through the situation and trying to decide which emotions were appropriate. Once it had decided, once the full reality of the situation hit and he saw the smoke and heard Arthur’s triumphant yelling, he was hit so hard with emotion that it knocked the air out of him. 

It was over. They were done. Whatever punishment they were serving was complete, and he was going home. Months here, months of starving and burning and crying and suffering and being so, so alone. Months of fear and helplessness. Over. _Over._ He almost wouldn’t allow himself to believe it, because if he let himself do that it might all slip away like it did before.

His whole body shook and his lower jaw trembled. He heard some hoarse, almost pained sound coming from him, rattling through his entire body, and distantly realized it was some mix between a sob and weak laughter. For a moment, he even felt light-headed, light-bodied, like his whole self could fly away at this very moment before the helicopter even got to them. But he was anchored to earth still by the person in his arms.

“Douglas...” Martin ripped his eyes from the aircraft that was growing ever closer to look at the pale man he was holding. “Douglas, we’re going home… I p-p-promised, didn’t I? I promised, look…!”

It seemed to take all the strength he had left, but Douglas managed to open his eyes and stare up at Martin. The captain’s smile was shaky and watery, and he was trembling so much the first officer could feel himself shake with him.

“Just a little while longer, alright? Can you do that, Douglas, for me? Hm?” Martin’s hand stroked his face, trying to keep his attention. 

“Martin…”

“I’ve got you, I-I’ve got you. You’re going home now, please… P-Please, you promised we’d all get home together, please…”

But the end of Martin’s plea was drowned out by a loud whirring sound and the rustle of a strong wind blowing through the trees, bending their branches. The last thing Douglas saw before fading again was the gust blowing Martin’s ridiculous hair, and his wide, wet eyes staring down at him.

And then, blackness.


	10. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming and homos coming am i right *waits for a high five*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I MEANT TO GET THIS CHAPTER BETA'D BUT I'M SO OVERDUE AND I DIDN'T WANNA KEEP YOU GUYS WAITING SO I'M SO SORRY IF THIS NEEDS HARDCORE EDITING. I'll be going through at some point and making minor changes, but probably nothing game changing.  
> This is the last chapter before the epilogue sorta thing (basically the last chapter before the last chapter idk). Resolutions and shit.  
> Thank you all for sticking around for this fic and reading 40k+ words of gay pilots. It's been an honor and you guys and your comments and kudos rly make me feel all warm and fuzzy I love you all I give you each a smooch mwah

The first thing he saw was blinding light.

He was barely able to flutter his eyes open before he was shutting them once more against the brilliant whiteness around him. His head was swimming, but he heard sounds - distant, confusing sounds. Voices and laughter and some sort of soft music?

 _Oh Christ, I’m dead,_ was his first thought. How had that happened? He couldn’t remember much, but as he was sliding slowly back into consciousness, he remembered the Island.

Well. Suddenly, death wasn’t so surprising. And if he was honest, it was even a bit of a relief – At least for a short time, as his brain took longer than normal to process things and remember that he was not the only one on that island. Grief slowly filled him at the realization of who he’d left behind. What were Martin and Arthur doing now? God, they were probably trying to figure out a way to bury him. They were probably grieving. They were both left twice as alone as they had been before, and it was all Douglas’ fault for being weak.

The thought of those two, crying because he wasn’t able to make it, clawed at his heart. The thought of leaving Martin…

He wanted to go back. If this was heaven, it certainly wasn’t worth it. His whole body still ached from head to (especially) toe. A tiny, weak sob escaped him.

And then, something next to him shifted. 

“Douglas?”

_Oh god, not Martin too…_

The first officer tried to open his mouth to make words, but it proved a surprisingly tough task. A hoarse groan escaped him, and he heard Martin shift closer and felt him take his hand.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright…” The captain’s voice was shaky, but he was having an easier time talking here than Douglas was. A distant part of his brain wondered why that was, and if this lethargy would fade or if he was stuck like this for all eternity. Perhaps it was some sort of punishment.

Gathering up his strength, Douglas managed to mutter a few words. “I’m so sorry…”

“Sorry? Don’t be ridiculous, you have nothing to be sorry for.” A warm hand stroked the hair away from Douglas’ brow. He swallowed and tried to continue.

“Is it… just us then…?” Was Arthur left alone on the island? Douglas couldn’t even imagine. They’d sworn to him that they would never abandon him…

“What - Just us here? No, no we’ve got Arthur too, don’t worry. We wouldn’t leave him behind.” Why did Martin sound almost… amused? Clearly, the afterlife was treating them better than it was Douglas.

“So that’s it…?” He swallowed again, his throat dry. “We’re… done…?”

“Yes, Douglas. We’re done.” The hand holding Douglas’ stroked gently with its thumb. “It’s all done.”

Another weak sob escaped the first officer. “We… We’ve died…”

“Died? Wh— Oh!” Martin let out a surprised laugh. “No, no Douglas, we didn’t die. You’re still alive, thankfully.” His tone softened, and the hand stroking Douglas’ hair moved down to cup his cheek. “You gave us a scare, though…”

Not dead? That didn’t make any sense. Douglas certainly felt like death, and none of this felt like the Island. With great effort, his eyelids fluttered and he squinted at his surroundings.

When the fog started to fade, the first thing he saw was Martin’s gentle smile and watery blue eyes staring down at him. There was a light source of some sort above the captain, illuminating him from behind, and had he not just informed Douglas that they were all still alive he would have believed it to be a halo of some sort.

The light that shone through the younger man’s hair didn’t look like the warm, natural light of the sun, though. In fact, Martin’s hair didn’t look quite right either.

“Your hair…” Douglas rasped out.

“Oh, yes,” Martin reached up to touch his own curls, which were significantly shorter and cleaner than Douglas remembered. “They cut my hair for me. I was a bit overdue, I think. We kept yours, though. Wanted to wait until you were awake, but if you want…”

As Martin spoke, Douglas reached up a weak hand to touch his ginger locks, stopping short when he noticed the tubes connecting to his arm. His mind was still fuzzy and clouded, but slowly he was seeing through the haze and figuring it out.

He was in a bright room, white light surrounding him, monitors on either side of his bed – He was in a bed, for the first time in months, _a real bed_ – and that was when it hit him.

There were walls and there was a window and a door and a television blaring some nonsense show with American actors in the background and he was covered in a blanket and his head was on a pillow and _oh god, oh Jesus Christ—_

Martin watched Douglas eyes widen as they travelled across the room, picking up every detail and marveling at every chair and floor tile like it was a mythical unicorn tap-dancing and whistling ‘God Save the Queen.’ The FO wheezed through the tubes in his nose.

“Hey—Are you alright?” Douglas saw Martin’s brow crease in concern. “Do you need a nurse? I probably should have called in a nurse as soon as you woke up, I’m sorry, I just –“

“Oh my god…” Douglas tried to sit up, and Martin twitched, not sure whether he should stop him or not. “We’re—“

“We’re home.” The captain smiled again, glancing over at the nurse call button. “Well, not home, not yet, we’re in Florida technically, but—“

Despite his state, Douglas found the energy to pull his captain down with surprising force into an embrace. Ragged sobs raked through his body, and Martin held onto him.

“Martin…!”

“I know…” The captain suddenly sounded very close to tears himself. “I know, Douglas…”

“Skip, I got your coff—Douglas!!” Arthur’s elated voice broke their tearful embrace, but then the steward was rushing over and setting down two cups of coffee to join in. “You’re awake! Brilliant!!”

Tears were spilling down freely over Douglas’ face, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. They were back. They were safe. And most importantly, they were together. He wanted to say something, to thank both of them perhaps, or something equally meaningful to express the overwhelming gratitude and affection he felt, but words failed him. Either way, he was spared from having to speak when another voice chirped in from the doorway.

“Ah, there’s our sleeping beauty!”

It was shock after shock for Douglas in the past five minutes or so, and now he really was speechless as he saw Carolyn standing by the door. There was never a moment when he had been happier to see her.

“Come now, off him!” She made her way over to the bed and shooed the other two men away from Douglas. The FO gaped up at his employer in a way that looked ridiculous, but Carolyn managed to refrain from commenting on. Instead, she placed a hand on either one of his shoulders. “Cherish this moment, Douglas. Or tolerate it, at the very least, for I promise it will be the first and very last time you will ever experience it.”

To Douglas’ utter shock, Carolyn leaned down and hugged him. _Hugged_ him. It was brief, but by God it was a hug, and the first officer had absolutely no idea how to deal with it. Once upon a time, he might have had a witty, sarcastic response, possibly one of disdain, but right now he simply wasn’t in that frame of mind.

“Right, a proper reunion will happen as soon as you’ve been checked by a doctor. I’ll be right back.” And like that, she was gone, with Arthur trailing after her like a lost puppy.

“… Good lord.” Douglas blinked after her.

“I know.” Martin tried to hold back a grin. “You should have seen her when she first arrived. Did you know she was capable of crying?”

“I wasn’t even aware she was capable of emotion.” Slowly, Douglas had been finding the strength to make full sentences, though his voice was still rough, more like rusted tin than his usual velvet tones.

“We were all bawling like babies, to be fair.” Martin sat back in his chair, still gripping his copilot’s hand.

“Martin… How did we… How did we get…?”

But before he could finish, he was interrupted by a white coat entering the room, followed by Arthur and Carolyn.

“Hello, Mr. Richardson! How are you feeling?” the American doctor asked as he checked the charts at the end of the bed. Douglas still had a hard time believing he was looking at another human being.

“Well, it’s just been one of those days, Doctor,” the FO spoke slowly, but still managed to be sarcastic. “I think you understand.”

“Ah, you’re joking, that’s a good sign!”

“Certainly is indicative of… not being dead…”

“Are you feeling any discomfort or pain?” the doctor asked. “You’ve been through a lot, you know.”

“’A lot,’ really?” Douglas shifted and winced. “I suppose that explains the… discomfort.”

“I’ll try and see what I can do about that.” The nice man in the white coat wrote down a note on his clip board. Douglas leaned back into his pillow and closed his eyes, feeling utterly emotionally and physically exhausted.

“Is there… Is there anything you can do about the pain in my foot, while you’re at it?” Douglas felt the hand gripping his tighten minutely. “It’s been killing me since… Well, I imagine longer than I’ve been awake.”

There was a silence after Douglas spoke that caused the first officer to open his eyes once more. The doctor and Martin were giving each other concerned glances from across the hospital bed, while Carolyn looked down at the floor and patted her son’s arm in the ‘don’t speak right now’ sort of way.

“Surely you haven’t run out of morphine?”

“Douglas…” Martin spoke, after he and the American seemed to make some silent agreement. “I think we need to talk…”

“Talk?”

“Do you remember what happened to you? Before we were rescued?”

“Of course I do, I…” Douglas’ brow furrowed as he thought. His memory was foggy before their rescue, like a scene happening behind a cloud of mist, details blurred and voices muffled. He remembered being upset, but he wasn’t sure why. He remembered pain in his leg. He remembered yellow light reflecting off Martin’s face.

“… You were hurt, Douglas,” Martin continued when he saw his friend struggle to recall what happened. “You hurt your foot very badly. I cleaned it out as often as I could, but it was getting infected…”

Ah, now _that_ Douglas remembered, though only in small scenes. “Yes, alright, I know that. Certainly explains the hospital.” He took a deep breath in through his tubing. “But how is that preventing you lot from medicating me?”

“It’s not, but…”

“Good, then please do so. It’s burning like all of hell down there...”

“Douglas, you had a fever, a-and the infection was spreading and there was nothing I could do, and…” Martin seemed to be growing more distressed as he spoke, and it made Douglas both concerned for the captain and concerned for himself. Part of him automatically felt the need to comfort his friend, while another part of him was growing anxious.

“Mr. Richardson,” the doctor’s tone didn’t bode well. “The infection had spread into your bone. There was some necrosis around the wound—“

As he spoke, Douglas’ eyes travelled down the sheets. The doctor’s words faded to his ears. At the foot of his bed, there was only one lump where there should have been two.

“… Oh.” Douglas’ heart crumbling could be heard through the beeping of the machines by his bed. “… _Oh…_ ”

*****

The prosthetic would take time to get used to, both emotionally and physically. Douglas wouldn’t say he had a very strong bond with his foot, but there was something about losing a part of himself that was so emotionally jarring. When he was strong enough, the doctor and nurses taught him how to put it on, helped him learn to walk in it, and informed him that the rest of his physical therapy would take place when he got back home. 

He found out that Martin and Arthur had been cleared to leave the hospital only a few days after their arrival (the day before Douglas had woken up), but they stayed. They hadn’t needed nearly as much care as Douglas – They were all dehydrated and thin, with a myriad of minor health problems that would need monitoring – but they couldn’t bear to leave Douglas alone. None of the nurses made them leave when visiting hours ended. As far as they were concerned, this was Douglas’ family, and he had to admit he was grateful for that.

The food also took getting used to. He would have suspected that, after barely fending off starvation for three months, his body would be eager to get a decent meal, but he had trouble stomaching even the jelly cups he was given. (Arthur, however, had no trouble eating his jelly.)

But even after all this, the full reality of Douglas’ condition did not hit until his third day awake in the hospital. The nurse helped him put on his prosthetic and led him toward the bathroom, where he insisted he would be fine doing this alone. Once he had the door closed, however, he looked up to see something startling.

A stranger was standing there, in the mirror above the sink. The first officer hadn’t gotten a good look at his reflection in a long time, but now he could see himself clearly under the harsh white lights. His dressing gown hung off his body loosely in a way that made it clear there was significantly less of Douglas there than there once had been. His face was gaunt, both his laughter and frown lines accentuated by the damage the sun had caused to his now tanner-than-before skin. Below his eyes hung dark bags, and despite the haircut and shave he had been given, his hair looked unkempt.

One hand clenched around Douglas’ IV stand while the other clutched the edge of the sink. He might have survived, but he saw the physical evidence that he had come back a very different man.

*****

“How did it happen?”

Martin looked up from his magazine. “How did what? The rescue?” Douglas nodded. It had been something Martin had meant to explain to him, but with the first officer in the state he was, it didn’t seem appropriate. Martin cleared his throat. “Well, you were… sick, obviously. Arthur and I were taking care of you, but you looked…” He went quiet. Douglas looked up at him from the meal he’d been picking at.

“… Martin?”

The captain blinked. “You were sick,” he continued, but the look he had had on his face was worrying. Like he’d zoned out, and for a minute he was somewhere else, somewhere unpleasant. “And things… didn’t look good. I’d given up all hope, but then Arthur noticed the helicopter, and he ran out to light the fire.”

“So Arthur is our hero in this story, then.” The first officer smiled.

“Yeah, not only that, but did you know they’d given up on finding us? Carolyn told me. She’d been told there was too little hope of finding us after a couple months and they were going to give us up for dead, and she was furious.”

“And they continued the search after being subjected to her wrath, I take it.”

“No, actually, you’ll like this bit: They found something. A couple of people out sail boating ran into something floating around and almost ignored it.” Martin set his magazine down on his lap. “A bottle.”

Douglas’ eyes widened. “Goodness.”

“I know.” The captain smiled warmly. “Suppose we really do owe Arthur our lives.”

“Coffee, chaps!” The steward in question chose that moment to enter the room, two foam cups in hand and a smile on his face. “Well, coffee, Martin. Sorry, Douglas, doctor says you shouldn’t have any just yet.”

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Douglas picked up the jelly cup from his tray and offered it to his friend. “Here you are, Arthur.”

“Oh wow, another one? Thanks, Douglas!”

“I suppose I owe you a lifetime supply at this point.”

“How d’you mean?” Arthur sat in the empty chair beside the bed, eagerly digging in.

“Well, you’re a hero now, don’t you know that?”

The steward looked up at his friends, perplexed. “… I am?”

“You saved our lives,” Martin clarified. “Without you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“And from the sound of things, I would be significantly less alive than I am now.” Douglas reached a hand out to place on Arthur’s shoulder. “… I owe you my life.”

Arthur blinked at them both. His cheeks pinked, and he beamed. “Well, I… Gosh, chaps, I just… I just did what I had to, we all did!”

“But we all didn’t write messages in bottles and flag down helicopters,” said Martin. “That was all you.”

“Arthur.” Douglas gave his shoulder another squeeze. “You… are the most brilliant man I have ever met.”

The steward looked at a loss for words. His eyes began to water up as he smiled at his companions.

*****

Today was the day.

They’d been at the American hospital for about a week before the doctors declared Douglas fit enough to transport back home, and Arthur, Martin, and Carolyn refused to leave until that time.

Leaving the hospital, they were greeted by a number of reporters and curious onlookers. The sudden attention, after months of seeing no other human life, was stressful for all three of them, but Carolyn and a couple escorts managed to fend them off as the three men got into their ride to the airport.

Upon arriving to Miami International, Martin’s eyes lit up. There were people everywhere and they were in another country and it was overwhelming, but being in an airport would always be like coming home to the captain. Even in America, the typical airport smell and atmosphere were familiar. The staff managed to sneak them past reporters to their plane – A small private jet, not unlike Gertie, except that it wasn’t quite as old and sunken. Once they stepped inside, Martin’s eyes gravitated toward the flight deck door, and something in his heart twisted knowing he couldn’t enter.

Douglas, being in a wheelchair (against his own will), needed assistance boarding the plane, but once he had he was sat next to Martin, across the aisle from Arthur and Carolyn. He saw the nostalgia practically written on his captain’s face as he looked around and made glances at the pilots.

“… Miss your hat?” Douglas followed his gaze to the plane’s captain, who was entering the flight deck now.

“’S just a hat…” Martin looked out the window with a shrug. Douglas took his hand.

“Suppose so.”

*****

The flight back, for Douglas, had been stressful, and it took him a few hours to figure out why. At this point, everything was some level of stressful, and perhaps that was part of it. His mind had simply grown to become used to anxiety, almost comfortable with it, and he knew he’d have to re-learn how to relax. Another part of it was probably being in the air, and that realization was startling. It should have made sense, after what happened to him, that planes would become a reminder of all the trauma he’d experienced, but he simply hadn’t expected himself to ever become afraid of flying. Or rather, the fear of being flown, he thought. The lack of control was also grating on him, and he wondered how Martin could ever stand this feeling.

What did help, however, was Martin. Nearly the entire flight, their hands were clasped together. When one got stressed, his grip would tighten, and the other’s thumb would stroke his knuckles subtly, soothingly. Every now and then, Douglas would glance over at the other man and see his profile as he stared out the window. He wondered if this touching, this affection was just a coping tool to Martin. Because he wasn’t so certain it was only that for him.

If Carolyn noticed, she didn’t make a comment. Hours into their flight, however, she did speak up. “I should warn you all, Herc informs me that there’s going to be quite the homecoming for you boys when we land.”

Martin frowned at her. “Have you been texting?”

“Perhaps, why?”

“Carolyn, you can’t have mobiles on in an aeroplane, it could interfere with the navigational equipment.”

Carolyn knew that wasn’t ever an issue, but hearing the anxiety in Martin’s voice, she didn’t argue. “… Fine.” She switched her phone onto airplane mode. “All better?”

“Thank you…” Martin sunk back into his seat.

“As I was saying, though, there may be a lot of people there. Many familiar faces, I imagine, coming to welcome you home, but also many reporters. If you want, I think the airport staff can try and do something about that.”

Douglas’ heart began to pound. “Who’s going to be there?”

“I’d ask, but my phone is now off, as you saw. I doubt Herc would recognize any of your relatives, though.”

The first officer felt Martin’s thumb stroking his knuckles. He’d been gripping the captain’s hand a bit tighter than he’d meant to, but the younger man didn’t seem to mind.

“Herc’s there too, though?” Arthur spoke up.

“I believe that was made clear.”

“Oh, brilliant!” The steward practically bounced in his seat. “Is Snoopadoop there, too? I missed them both so much!”

“Snoopadoop was meant to be a surprise, but since you’re asking, yes.” Was that a warm smile on Carolyn’s face? Today truly was a strange day.

*****

As their plane touched down, Douglas and Martin looked out their window to see Carolyn had not been lying. Outside was a considerable crowd of people, many of whom were complete strangers with cameras, but all three men began scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Arthur leaned over to get a glimpse outside with an excited smile.

When the jet came to a stop and the door was opened, there was an air of excitement and hesitance on the plane. Outside, cheering could be heard.

“Well…” Martin took in a deep breath, smiling uncertainly. “Here we are.”

“Can I go first!?” Arthur hopped up and down a bit, and his two friends conceded. Each one of them was escorted down the stairs.

Arthur beamed out at the crowd, unused to so much attention and so many faces that looked this happy to see him. He waved out at everyone excitedly as his friends followed behind him. By the time he’d reached the bottom with his mother, he’d caught sight of Herc and the dog in his arms. The steward, against the wishes of his escorts, rushed over to greet them. Herc was enveloped in a tight hug, which he returned one-armed, and Snoopadoop covered his owner’s son’s face was wet kisses.

Douglas was helped down the steps by a member of the medical staff that had accompanied them. A wheelchair was waiting for him at the bottom, which was quickly ignored.

The first officer’s eyes continued to scan the crowd, until he saw a little girl hopping up and down behind the tape that kept the crowd back. He limped faster down the stairs. By the time he’d reached the bottom, falling to his knees, the little girl had ducked under the tape and was rushing over to his waiting arms. Close behind, Douglas’ older daughter appeared, kneeling down with them.

“Girls…” Douglas held his daughters tight in his arms. His whole body shook. This was it. This was all he had wanted. Twelve weeks on a deserted island, and in the end, all he had needed to come back for was this moment. He clenched his eyes shut against the tears that came anyway, and buried his face in Verity’s hair.

“Daddy,” Emily was crying. The poor thing was trembling in his arms.

“I’m here, Darling, I’m right here, Daddy’s here…” Douglas’ voice was hoarse with emotion. “God, I missed you both, you have no idea…”

Behind Douglas, Martin watched on, feeling a strange lump form in his throat and a smile on his lips, until he was distracted by someone calling his name above the cheering crowd. He looked up, and his eyes automatically caught sight of Simon, Katelyn, and his mother. His brother beckoned him over enthusiastically while his sister held an arm around Wendy Crieff, who was already in tears looking at him. But as Martin approached them, he quickly realized they weren’t the only ones there for him, especially when he heard a group of people chanting his name.

Standing there, behind his family, was about a dozen or so college students, enthusiastically pumping their fists as they shouted “MARTIN! MARTIN!” They held up a banner, and Martin was able to read the words “Welcome home, Captain!” before he was enveloped in a hug by his sobbing mother.

“Mum…”

“I thought you’d gone,” Wendy Crieff sobbed, and she pulled away to cup his face in her hands. “Love, I thought you’d…” 

“I’m sorry, Mum…” His heart broke a bit looking at her.

Meanwhile, Simon had ducked under the tape and was tugging Martin into a hug of his own – One that ended up with Martin’s feet leaving the ground and a shocked yelp escaping him. “I can’t believe it! You made it!”

“Ow…!” The captain winced as he felt the force of Simon’s hug crack his spine.

“You went through hell and back, and look at you! You’re here! Isn’t my little brother amazing!?” That elicited a loud cheer from the group behind them. Simon finally set Martin down, and the younger brother saw a grin on his face and tears in his eyes. Martin blinked around at them all.

“I… I am…?” He looked at the college students – some faces familiar, a few not, but all of them there for him. One young man he knew, Geoffrey, called out to him.

“Martin! We missed ya, didn’t we guys!?” Before he could even finish that question, there was enthusiastic agreement, which seemed to involve a few noise makers as well as shouts.

“Kept your attic just the way you left it!” another student – Jon – added.

“The landlord tried to rent it out, but every time a buyer came by, we’d scare ‘em off! Told them it was haunted!”

“Yeah, rigged up some strings to make things move and everything! It was hilarious!” a girl Martin recognized, Amanda, shouted from the back of the group.

Martin’s eyes moved from one student to the next in shock, trying to absorb what they were saying. “You… You kept my room…?”

“Of course we did!” Geoff said. “You’re our Attic Pilot! We couldn’t just forget ya!”

Martin felt tears prickle his eyes. He swallowed another hard lump and ducked under the tape.

In a moment, he was surrounded by people. It was a bit suffocating, after living alone for so long, to be around so many people and so much hype, but Martin felt nothing but honored. 

Until he was being lifted up onto a few of the students’ shoulders, then he felt rather startled.

“Ah! W-Wait! I--!”

But his protests were drowned out in a chant of “Martin! Martin!” The captain found himself laughing with joy as tears streamed down his face.

*****

“Oh, god, they used _that_ picture?” Martin sneered in distaste at the paper in Douglas’ hands. On the cover were pictures of all three of them – Arthur grinning at the camera with Carolyn, Herc, and Snoopadoop; Douglas hugging his daughters; Martin flailing rather ungracefully on the shoulders of four twenty-year-olds.

“I think your photo rather suits you,” Douglas smirked, skimming through the article again. “Care to read what they said?”

“I think I’d rather not.” The captain frowned. “… Wait, why, is there anything bad?”

“Well, perhaps you would have been able to contribute to what they’ve written if you hadn’t declined an interview.”

Martin snatched the paper out of Douglas’ hands. “Oh, god, what did you tell them?”

Douglas watched the blush grow, spreading to the younger man’s ears as he read. Martin handed back the paper.

“That was… very sweet of you two,” he muttered.

“We only spoke the truth.” Douglas smiled softly. Martin returned it, though his eyes were on the carpet of Carolyn’s living room.

“Yeah, you were brilliant, Skip!” Arthur chirped in, sipping his tea as he sat on the floor.

“And the tale of our brilliant captain will be retold once more,” Douglas sat a bit straighter. “when our book gets published.”

“You’re still going through with that?” Martin asked.

“Of course. I have the first chapter written already, if you care to read it some time.”

The captain gave his first officer a side-eyed glance. “I think I’ll definitely need to look at it before you go publishing anything.”

“I’m going to pretend that has nothing to do with your lack of trust in me.”

Martin huffed out a laugh, and glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Oh, damn, I need to go, Katelyn’s expecting me.” He stood from his place on the couch beside Douglas.

“You’re still staying with her, then?”

“Well, yes. It wasn’t my idea, but… She and Simon and Mum want someone to keep an eye on me for a while…” He pulled on his coat.

“You’re leaving?” Arthur looked thoroughly disappointed. The three of them were never terribly happy when separated from the others – Sometimes, calling each other in the middle of the night amidst a panic attack, and often meeting up at Arthur and Carolyn’s place.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Arthur, don’t worry,” Martin reassured as he pulled on his wool cap.

“Martin…” Douglas stood, with a bit of effort and help from his cane, and made his way to the hallway in front of the door where the captain was. “If I could have a word.”

Martin turned. His hand stopped on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“I was wondering,” Douglas kept his voice low. “if perhaps you’d like to proof-read a bit of what I’ve written… tonight?”

The red on Martin’s cheeks matched the red of his cap. “Tonight? Do—Do you have a copy with you?”

“Not with me, no, but I was thinking we could meet up somewhere.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “If you’re alright with that.”

“M-Meet up—Where?”

“Well, I was thinking of getting out for a bit, away from my ex, and perhaps procuring a hotel room. If you’d like to stop by…”

Douglas watched Martin’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “… I’ll call you.”

“Grand.” The FO grinned.

*****

Douglas felt nervous, which was an odd thing. Confidence he was good at, he was comfortable with confidence, but the moment anything shook his faith in himself, he had no clue how to handle it but to pretend he was still confident. His usual trick was to practice smirks in the mirror, but nowadays, the mirror did nothing to help him.

When there was a knock on the door, though – Well, more of an unsure tap – The ex-first officer took a deep breath. Opening the door, he saw Martin, short and red-faced and lovely as ever.

“Martin,” he greeted his captain with a warm smile, opening the door wider to let him in. Martin slipped into the room, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. He let Douglas help him remove his coat and scarf before turning around to face him.

“… Hello,” the captain said rather dumbly. Somehow his visible lack of confidence helped Douglas regain some of his own.

“Hello.” Douglas reached out, taking one of Martin’s hands and coaxing it out of a fist, stepping closer. “I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah- Yes, it’s no—no trouble. Yes.” He let Douglas’ thumb caress his knuckles. 

“Did you have trouble getting here?”

“No, no, um… Well, I suppose there were… more people in the lobby than I was expecting, b-but…”

Douglas’ face grew concerned. “Bit too much?” His other hand reached up to touch Martin’s neck gently. The captain tensed just a bit more.

“I’ll be fine, just…” He took a deep breath. “Not used to it, you know? Not used to people and… places and things.”

Looking at the anxiety on Martin’s face, and knowing now what caused it, Douglas wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms. But he knew that sometimes that could make it worse. Instead, he tugged Martin by the hand toward the bed to sit down. Once they’d had a seat, he moved his hand up to Martin’s neck again and rubbed gently at his nape with his thumb. Martin closed his eyes.

“Douglas… I think we need to talk…”

The FO paused, staring at Martin’s profile. Already, he had a sinking feeling in his gut. “What about?”

“Why I’m here…”

 _Ah._ Douglas had half expected this, but still, the reality of it happening felt like a physical blow to his chest. “I see.”

“I…” Martin swallowed. Douglas’ hand fell to his own knee. It felt wrong to touch him so intimately now. “I know what you were inviting me here for, a-and… honestly, I’d love to…” The briefest nervous smile touched his lips, but it disappeared as he looked up to meet the older man’s eyes. “But I think our intentions are… different.”

“Different.” Douglas was having trouble making full sentences as he felt his heart crumbling. In a way, he’d always known it would come to this. And if he hadn’t, any glance in the mirror would have told him. The Island had made him older, more ragged, and here in civilization there were indeed plenty more fish in the sea. At least for someone who was young and attractive and still had their whole life ahead of them. Someone like Martin. But he had allowed himself to hope, and that was his fault.

Now, he knew. They weren’t on the island anymore. God knew they still needed distractions from their own thoughts, but Martin was no longer desperate enough to come to him for help – Not in that way, anyway. They were never together, but this felt like a breakup. Douglas was all too familiar with this feeling, and it never stopped hurting.

“Yes,” Martin continued, and looked down. “I think our… feelings are different.”

God, had he been that obvious? Hot shame pierced through Douglas like a knife. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“I’m sorry, Douglas… I-I really never meant to let it get this far, I don’t know what to say…”

“Don’t apologize.” Douglas cleared his throat. “It’s… I think I already knew.”

All the color drained from Martin’s face. “You knew?”

“I suspected.” It should have been obvious, that Martin wouldn’t have been able to return his feelings. If anyone knew that sex didn’t always lead to love, it should have been Douglas. “And I suppose I shouldn’t have let things get as far as they did, either.” His gaze fell to the floor.

“No, no, Douglas, it’s my fault.”

 _How could you have known you were making me fall in love with you? How could you have stopped it?_ “It’s fine…”

“I mean, I guess I… No one’s shown me that kind of attention for a very long time, a-and I just…”

“You needed a distraction,” Douglas finished for him. But Martin looked up at him confusedly.

“What?”

“That was what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? A distraction. I can hardly blame you for having that motive when it was what we agreed on.”

“No—No, y-you were… You needed the distraction.”

Douglas returned Martin’s perplexed look. “Beg your pardon?”

“That’s what I was saying. You… You needed a distraction, a-and that’s why you… agreed to it. Why you invited me here.”

“… But you said our feelings were different.”

Martin’s blush returned. “Yes, that’s… Was I not clear?”

“… No.”

“Well I… W-What did you think I meant?” Martin’s blush was returning as he fidgeted.

Both men stared at each other with the same wide-eyed expression. Douglas’ mind took time to work out what was happening, but he recognized that look on Martin’s face. It was cautious hope.

_Oh._

Douglas felt as if someone had physically kicked his heart into gear as it thumped in his ribcage. He’d lost control of his own caution, his hope ran lose as he pieced things together. And suddenly, he felt physically lighter, like a weight had been removed from his back and replaced with a hundred helium balloons.

“You love me.” It was barely more than a whisper. The red in Martin’s ears was tell-tale, but then the ginger nodded minutely.

“Th-that’s what I was trying to tell you…”

“And you thought…” Douglas let out a huff of laughter that came out a bit louder than intended.

“I know, it was stupid, I’m sorry…” Martin hid his face, overcome with shame and humiliation. 

“I can’t believe this…”

“Douglas…”

The first officer squeezed his shoulder. “Martin, _you_ love _me?”_

“Please, Douglas, just stop…“ The captain sounded utterly miserable.

“And here I was, thinking you’d come to tell me my feelings were unrequited!”

Martin finally looked up again, brows creased in yet more confusion, before his eyes widened. For a long moment, he stared at Douglas wordlessly.

“Wait… Are… S-So you…?”

The first officer’s gaze grew warm as he shook his head fondly. “Utterly smitten.”

“… Oh…” All the air in Martin’s lungs seemed to leave with that one syllable, then returned with a shaky breath. “I-I… I’d thought… I mean, back there, when we… I-I hadn’t wanted to hope, and when we got back, I thought you’d—“

“Martin.”

“Yes?” Douglas’ hands were cupping his face gently, almost reverently, stopping his babbling and holding his attention.

“I believe now is the point in our confessions in which you shut up and kiss me.”

It was almost comical how wide the captain’s eyes were as he stared up at Douglas. “… Oh.” 

And then, he lunged forward so suddenly it almost startled the first officer.

They held each other so tightly, like a lifeline they couldn’t afford to let go of. Martin’s lips were eager, and for the first time that Douglas had experienced, they tasted like mint. Before long, the first officer felt them curl up into a smile.

Grinning made kissing a bit harder for the both of them, but no less enjoyable, especially when the occasional giddy giggle would come bubbling out of Martin. He radiated so much warmth and happiness, it was so new and fantastic, and all Douglas could think was that he wanted more of it. He wanted Martin like this every day, and he wanted to be the cause of it. After what his captain had been through, after everything he’d done for Douglas, it was everything he deserved.

“You really mean it, though?” Martin whispered as they pulled away, breathless.

“Mmm,” Douglas hummed. “Very much.”

Arms around Martin’s waist, Douglas pulled him closer and twisted around to throw the younger man down onto the sheets behind him. Any reservations Martin had when he’d arrived were clearly gone and forgotten. The sudden change in position elicited a startled laugh from him as Douglas turned to lie beside him and pull him into another kiss.

“And now…” The first officer spoke between more kisses. “… is the point in our confession…” His lips travelled across Martin’s cheek to his jawline. “When you reconsider your decision not to spend the night…”

“Douglas…” Martin was grinning still, and the FO didn’t need to look up to know. Everything was happening so suddenly and it was spectacular, the polar opposite of what either of them had been expecting when Martin entered not minutes ago. “I told my sister I wouldn’t be out long…”

Douglas hummed against Martin’s throat, and the captain tipped his chin up as a shiver ran down his spine. “Text her and tell her not to wait up. Or better yet…” His hand had travelled lower, and while Martin had spread his legs in anticipation, Douglas’ fingers slipped into the younger man’s pocket rather than where he had been expecting them to go.

“H-Hey!”

Douglas held Martin’s mobile out of reach and sat up, opening up a new text to send.

“No need to worry her, I’ll let her know where you are.”

“Douglas!” Usually, in a situation of keep-away like this, Martin would be very cross. But right now, he was laughing. Douglas couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“I… am…” Douglas read as he typed, fending Martin off with his free arm. “… going… to be… late…”

“Douglas, I swear, if you--!”

“I’m at… a hotel… with… a very handsome older man…”

“Douglas!!” Martin had rolled on top of the first officer, straddling his back, and decided to take drastic measures. Douglas yelped – in a rather undignified manner – as his sides were tickled.

“AHA! M-Martin, don’t--!”

“Give it back!”

The phone was soon tossed onto the carpet in the struggle. Douglas reached around and found Martin’s wrists, gripping them and holding them away from his sides as he caught his breath. “Really, Martin! That isn’t fair!”

Martin’s voice was so close to Douglas’ ear, the older man could feel his breath. “I tried to warn you.”

Douglas attempted to turn over, and Martin climbed off him. With a huff, he raised an eyebrow at the captain. “That’s still rather cruel, Sir.”

Martin simply chuckled and leaned down to kiss him again. Douglas’ hands came up to bury themselves in his hair, preventing escape as he nipped the captain’s lower lip.

“So…?” Douglas muttered. Their noses bumped, and Martin looked down at him with hooded eyes. “Will you be staying the night…?”

Martin bit his lip. “… I really shouldn’t…”

“Do you want to?”

A hand ran down Douglas’ chest. “… I do want to…”

“Seems we’re at an agreement, then…” Douglas leaned up the quarter inch to meet Martin’s lips. Martin let out a long, shaky breath through his nose.

“I’ll never hear the end of this from Katelyn,” Martin muttered between kisses.

“I’ll just have to make this worth the trouble, then…” Douglas’ hands moved to Martin’s shirt, tugging it up. The captain complied, casting it off and working on the buttons of Douglas’ shirt. Douglas sat up, letting it slide off his shoulders, and rolled over on top of the other man.

“Wait…” Martin stopped Douglas with a hand on his chest. “I, um…” He worried his lower lip once more. “Is this… W-What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“I mean, now that we know…”

“Yes…?”

“Are we…?”

Douglas smiled down at him. “I’d very much like us to be…”

“… Oh…” Martin let out a nervous laugh. “Good, good—I-I mean—… So would I.”

“For that, I’m very grateful.” Douglas’ hand came up to stroke Martin’s face.

Every time Douglas had looked in the mirror since they’d gotten back, he felt nothing but disgust. If he was honest, he’d had some reservations about this, about letting Martin see him without his clothes on in a hotel bed, despite all the times they’d seen each other naked. But the man was looking up at Douglas with such unguarded wonderment in his eyes. Any residual self-consciousness about his body was easily forgotten – At least, most of it.

As he kissed the younger man in his bed, down Martin’s own thin chest and visible ribs (though they were significantly less visible now – They’d both put on weight), over his nipple, down his navel, and as he reached for Martin’s belt, there was one nagging insecurity he still couldn’t shake, and he would soon have to deal with. But for now, perhaps he could distract Martin enough that the man wouldn’t notice.

The lower down Douglas moved, the heavier Martin’s breathing became. By the time he reached his belly button, the captain was shivering. Hands found Douglas’ hair as he unzipped his partner’s fly and tugged down his trousers and pants. Hot breath ghosted over Martin’s erection, and he was practically shaking with anticipation.

This, they hadn’t done on the island. Douglas had been willing, but Martin was afraid that, no matter how much they washed, it wouldn’t have been sanitary. But right now, the FO could smell the soap from Martin’s last shower on his skin, and nothing ever smelled so arousing.

“Douglas…”

His name was spoken in the softest whisper. It made Martin sound so vulnerable and needy. And as Douglas licked a stripe up his length, as he teased the tip and took Martin into the heat of his mouth, it was repeated again.

“ _Douglas…_ ”

Douglas glanced up, getting a glimpse of Martin’s face. His head was thrown back, back arched, face and chest red. His mouth hung open, panting more and more as Douglas continued, until the hands in his hair tugged a bit.

“Stop, stop, wait…!”

Douglas complied, letting Martin slide out of his mouth. “Something else you wanted…?”

“I’m…” Martin swallowed. “Too soon…”

Douglas climbed back up the bed to place a kiss on the other man’s jaw. Wriggling, Martin attempted to kick off his trousers and pants, until his shoes got in the way. The FO above him let him struggle a moment, smirking, before he reached down to help.

“If you like,” Douglas whispered, his hand trailing down Martin’s stomach. “I have condoms with me, and lubricant…”

Martin froze. “Oh…?”

“It’s just a suggestion.” The first officer nibbled at his ear. “However way you’d want it, whoever you want to wear the condom… If you want that at all, that is…”

“I… I think I do…”

“I think I do, too…” Douglas climbed off the bed briefly, rummaging through his bag before returning. Martin waited for him, sat up on his elbows and blushing. “But who do you want to wear this?” He held up the condom.

Martin bit his lip a moment. “Can… W-Would you like to…?”

“Would you like me to?”

Martin nodded.

“Handing over control to me, then?” Douglas teased. The captain huffed out a nervous laugh.

“… Yeah.” His arms came to wrap around Douglas, and his eyes scanned the older man’s face. 

After all the powerlessness felt during their struggle on the island, the FO knew how significant even something like this was. Martin was a control freak, no doubt, but after their trauma, loss of control over any situation made them all claustrophobic. Yet here Martin was, trusting himself to Douglas.

Despite where his mouth had just been, Douglas found himself being dragged down into a soft kiss, before Martin’s hands were moving down to his trousers. But it was then Douglas began to feel a strange anxiety in his chest, while Martin was unbuttoning his fly and tugging his garments down. It was then that he was reminded of the one insecurity he’d yet to rid himself of.

Martin had pulled his trousers down, his hands travelling to Douglas’ bottom and squeezing. Douglas sucked in a breath, momentarily distracted, but spread his legs to prevent his trousers from falling down any further.

“Martin…” he finally spoke when the captain attempted to tug his pants down more.

“Mmm…?”

“I, ah…” The older man glanced down. “Perhaps it would be best if we left these on…”

Martin paused and looked at his partner, perplexed. “Keep them on…?”

“I think to preserve the mood… it might be best.”

It seemed to take Martin a moment to understand, but when he did, Douglas wished he could wipe that sad look off his face. “Oh, Douglas…”

The older man attempted to distract him with a kiss, but Martin pushed him away gently.

“Douglas…” God, the FO hated that look. “Is this about…?” He gestured at the prosthetic Douglas wore beneath his trouser leg and sock.

“I just think it would be better to keep my trousers on, if it’s alright.”

“Because you think I’d… judge you or something?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then why are you worried?”

“Look, Martin…” Douglas pushed himself up onto his knees, rubbing his forehead. He was ashamed to find his hands shaking.

“I don’t mind it.” Martin spoke softly, sounding so earnest.

“Well, I do.”

“I know you do…” He sat up, reaching out to take his partner’s hand. “But…”

“Please don’t ask me to talk about my feelings right now, Martin.”

“I’m not. Not if you don’t want to, I mean. It’s just…” The captain looked down. 

Douglas sighed. This really was not going the way he’d planned. “Just what?”

“… You had to lose your foot, but I almost lost you.” Martin swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “A-And, I don’t know, maybe you wish it’d been the other way around – though I really hope you don’t – but that… Your foot, to me, is… I-I still have the rest of you. So it’s… it’s not so big. To me.” He ran his hand up and down Douglas’ arm, and when the silence dragged on long enough, he finally looked up.

Douglas took a deep breath. Some emotion was bubbling up from inside him, ready to boil over, but he kept the lid tightly on. “… It disgusts me…”

“I know… I hope one day it won’t…”

“How do you know it wouldn’t disgust you?”

“Douglas, I’ve seen it, it’s really not that bad—“

“Not that bad??” Douglas’ temper flared for just two seconds before he reigned it back in. But Martin didn’t flinch.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you know what I meant. I’m just saying… I’m not repelled by it.” Leaning up, Martin stole a soft kiss. “I still want you.”

Douglas’ eyes slid shut. He let out a breath. “… I suppose trousers are uncomfortable, in this situation.”

Martin smiled gently. “They are.”

“We could… turn out the lights, perhaps…”

“We could. If you want that.” The captain lied back, tugging Douglas along with him and reaching out to flick off the bedside light.

They kissed for a long time before Douglas found the courage to kick off his shoes. Their erections had flagged during their discussion, but Martin seemed to possess a strange talent for putting him at ease. It seemed odd, considering how infuriating he had been before the crash and how often they’d butt heads, but shared experiences had brought new understanding. They knew what the other needed. Martin probably understood Douglas more than he understood himself, at this point.

Slowly, Martin’s hands made their way down Douglas’ sides. As they reached his hips, they paused, and began pushing down the older man’s trousers once more. Douglas let him, until they reached his knees and it was his turn to take care of the rest.

“I need to, um...” 

“Right.” Martin smiled. 

Douglas sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to kick the rest of his clothes off. Behind him, Martin sat up onto his knees and crawled forward to wrap his arms around his partner.

Once naked, the only thing left to remove was the prosthetic. Theoretically, Douglas could have kept it on, but he knew that might get uncomfortable for the both of them, and his doctors had advised against sleeping with it on. (Though he had, a few nights, just to pretend the empty space where his foot had been wasn’t there.) Still, he wondered if it would be worse than trying to make love with a nub at the end of his leg.

Tentatively, he began to remove it. Martin held him a bit tighter, kissing the nape of his neck.

A few clicks and unstrapped straps later, Douglas shed off his facsimile of an extremity. Swallowing, he looked behind his shoulder to see Martin, who met him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Come here…”

Douglas crawled back into bed with his freckled partner, willing his hands to stop shaking. Martin wrapped his arms around him.

“I’ve got you.”

Douglas scoffed. “Making sure I don’t run away or something? Bit hard to do now.”

Martin’s grin and tight embrace helped quell some of the FO’s worries.

“Now… Where did that lube go?”

“I believe I’m sitting on it, actually…” Martin rummaged around in the sheets below him and produced a small bottle.

“Ah, yes, thank you.”

It didn’t take too long to reclaim the mood. Martin seemed twice as eager now, wanting to convince Douglas that he wasn’t put off in any way by his condition. And as Douglas prepared him, he didn’t have to pretend at all how much he was enjoying it.

“God…” It had been ages since anyone had touched him there, and Martin forgot how much he enjoyed it. Douglas kissed his neck, and he could feel the first officer’s heavy breath on his skin as he thrust his fingers in and out.

“Not God, just me,” Douglas teased. “A common mistake, though.”

Martin let out a breathless laugh. “Shut it…” Douglas curled a finger, nudging his prostate, and the captain’s jaw dropped in a silent gasp.

“There it is…”

Martin’s fingers grappled at Douglas’ back. “Douglas, please…”

“Hmmm…?”

“I-I’m ready, please…”

“Ready for what, Sir…?”

“You know what, come on…”

“I’m afraid I need clear instruction.” A grin was growing on Douglas’ face, which remained buried in Martin’s neck.

The captain let out a frustrated huff of air. “Will you shut up and _fuck_ me already, before I change my mind…!”

“Ah, I see.” Douglas’ head turned to rip open the condom package in his hand with his teeth. He reached down to roll it on. “Should have just said…”

Once the condom was on and Martin was properly prepared, Douglas nudged Martin to lift his hips and pushed a pillow below him. He leaned in to steal another kiss as he pushed his partner’s knees up, exposing him enough for Douglas to push in, but before he could—

“A-AH!!” Martin suddenly tensed up, legs pushing back against Douglas’ guiding hands, and grimaced. Startled, Douglas pulled away.

“What? What’s--?”

“Cramp, leg cramp, ah, ah…!”

Douglas massaged his thigh gently, trying to ease the tensed muscles. “Not very flexible…?”

“Apparently not…” Martin bit his lip. “Sorry…”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, now… God…”

Not wanting to lose the mood again, Douglas let his soothing hands roam to the inside of Martin’s thighs. The other man shivered, clearly still aroused even after the shock of pain.

“Why don’t you turn over…?”

Martin swallowed… “I-I don’t, um…” The thought of being face down in a pillow felt suffocating for some reason.

“Not all the way, just on your side. Here…” Douglas moved beside him as he moved, spooning Martin from behind and wrapping his arms securely around him as he kissed his neck again. “This alright…?”

Martin nodded, feeling Douglas’ erection pressed up behind him. He pushed his hips back encouragingly when Douglas moved against him. “C’mon…”

“As Sir wishes…”

Martin’s panting grew a bit heavier in anticipation as he felt Douglas line himself up and push in slowly. His body gave a little resistance, still tense from the shock he’d just had, but soon he was able to relax himself enough. By the time Douglas was fully inside, they were both breathing hard. Martin pushed his hips back encouragingly. “Douglas…”

The slow rock of Douglas’ hips grew a bit faster and rougher as time passed, each thrust marked by the gasps the captain emitted. His hands roamed over Martin’s chest, thumbs brushing his nipples and fingers travelling down his navel. Martin’s back arched as he moved back against him.

“Christ, Martin…” Douglas buried his face in the crook of his partner’s neck. “I need you…”

“I- I’m here,” Martin gasped out.

“You’re amazing…” A warmth was pooling in the first officer’s chest as he held the other man tighter. “Beautiful, incredible…”

Martin let out a sound that was like a sob. “Douglas…”

Douglas panted behind him. His thrusts became faster, more confident, and Martin could feel the tug of orgasm the more he hit his prostate. The bed springs below them creaked with their movements, the sound almost drowned out by their harsh breathing.

As Douglas reached down a hand to stroke Martin, the captain felt himself tumble over the edge of climax. Warm heat that had been coiling in his lower belly burst, and he came with an abortive shout. 

Douglas wasn’t far behind. Soon after, Martin felt him tense up behind him, burying his cock in him as deep as he could and stifling a groan in the captain’s shoulder.

After Douglas had slipped free and tossed the condom in the bin beside the bed, soft, wordless kisses were shared until sleep took them.

*****

Douglas was pulled unwillingly from sleep by some bright redness filling his vision. As he slipped slowly out of unconsciousness, he soon realized it was light, filtered through his eyelids. With a frown and an indignant intake of breath, he pulled the duvet over his face to block it out, and as he buried himself in the sheets, his nose bumped against warm skin. Someone’s side. An arm came to rest over him.

“I’m sure you know this,” came Martin’s voice from above him. “But you are a rather good writer. I mean, half of what you’ve written here is utter bollocks, but I’m invested.”

Douglas peaked out from beneath the covers. “Oh, you’re reading it, then.” His voice was gruff from sleep still. “What are you talking about, ‘bollocks?’”

“ _’As I swam frantically upward, the surface growing ever closer yet ever farther away?’_ You were an unconscious dead weight; I swam you to the surface.”

“Is that how it went? Well, forgive me for embellishing a few details. I do want this book to sell.”

“You mean you want to look good,” Martin teased.

“Can you blame me?”

“I dunno, I think the audience would like to hear the truth. Like when you sulked half the time and had those stomach issues from all the fruit you ate.”

Douglas glared in disgust. “You know, I was going to ask you and Arthur to contribute, but I believe I’ve changed my mind.”

Martin chuckled, pulling his partner in closer to his side as he read. Douglas rested his head on his stomach, hearing his captain’s slow breathing and pitter-pattering heart.

“… Oh, look, more bollocks.”

“I don’t think I lied _that_ much, did I?”

“You wrote me like… You call me ‘Captain Crieff’ here? When have you ever called me ‘captain’ and hadn’t been taking the piss?”

“I thought you’d like that. An entire audience being reminded about five times a page of who the captain was.” Douglas glanced up to see Martin blushing and smiled.

He closed the booklet made of stapled sheets, tossing it onto the bedside table. “You wrote me like… you respected me.”

“You know, despite what you may think, Martin, I do.” Martin looked down at him finally, and his hand moved up to stroke Douglas’ hair.

“It only took three months on a deserted island for you to do so.”

“I always have, in a way. Well, not _always,_ but… After you were properly assimilated into the MJN family…”

Martin hummed in response, raising a skeptical eyebrow. But then, his eyes widened, and he scrambled out of bed, much to Douglas’ displeasure. “Shit…!”

Douglas watched him round the corner of the bed, grabbing his mobile off the ground and looking at it anxiously. “Katelyn’s called about six times…” he sighed.

“Well, she wouldn’t have if you let me send that text.”

Martin ignored him, putting the phone to his ear and making his way to the bathroom. From what Douglas could hear of the ensuing conversation, Martin’s sister wasn’t thrilled by his absence. “I’m not a child” and “I’m not crazy” were phrases Martin had to use multiple times. By the time he returned, he looked miserable. Douglas sat up in bed, reaching out a hand for him.

“She thought I ran off.” Martin sat beside him, taking his hand. “Had some manic episode or something and…” He shook his head.

“Your family’s become rather protective now, I take it.”

“They think after… after everything, I’m just going to snap.” Martin rubbed his face. “… Some days I think I will, too.”

The captain was soon wrapped in a warm embrace. “I know the feeling…”

“And I just feel so stupid,” Martin continued, his voice growing a bit rougher from emotion. “because I spent all those months wishing I could come back, telling myself I’d do anything to get back here and that when I did everything would be better, but it’s not is it?”

“It’s not. Not yet,” Douglas agreed. “You don’t walk away from something like that without scars, Martin…”

“Just… never noticed how many people and places and sounds there are out there…” Martin felt Douglas rest his chin on his head. “Everything is terrifying, Douglas. Everything is so… busy and loud and fast…”

“I know…”

“A-And when you and Arthur aren’t there… When I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing…”

“You can be surrounded by people who love you, and still feel alone.”

“Yeah…”

“… Martin…” Douglas pressed a kiss to his head. “… Johanna has been suggesting I get therapy.”

Martin sighed. “Simon said that too, but coming from him, it just… makes me feel like a nutter.”

“We could go together. You, Arthur and I.” The captain looked up at him. “… Arthur’s told me similar things, you know. Carolyn says he wakes up screaming at least twice a week.”

“… Maybe…” Martin glanced down.

“We can heal, and get on with our lives. You can work on becoming a captain again.”

“… You really think I can…?” Martin sounded doubtful. It was heartbreaking.

“I do. In fact…” Douglas climbed to the edge of the bed, reaching around for his overnight bag. “I had something else I meant to give you.”

Martin watched in confusion as Douglas ruffled around in his bag and found what he was looking for: A dark cap with a gold braid.

“It’s from Air England,” Douglas explained. His swept his thumb over the visor and looked down at it as he would the photo of an old lover. “It’s served me well – At least, it did for a time. I was technically supposed to hand it back when I was sacked, but… Well, I had practice smuggling. It’s not quite like your cap, not nearly as much gold braid, but I’d thought…”

As he handed it over, Martin was dumbstruck. He held it in his hands with as much reverence as if it were a holy artifact.

“… You’re giving me your captain’s hat…?”

“Well, I know you lost yours during the rescue, and I’d thought… Perhaps you needed it more than I did.”

Martin’s eyes became misty. “Douglas, I… Thank you, I don’t know what to say…”

Douglas smiled fondly, placing a kiss on Martin’s cheek. “Think nothing of it, Captain.”


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, even the worst scars fade. Perhaps never fully, but enough that the pain that caused them is no longer quite so sharp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONE WE ARE DONE PHEW LOOKIT ALL THAT FIC.  
> Thank you all for reading! All your comments and support really mean a lot! I hope you've all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I have writing it.  
> And now I leave you with sappy gays and happy endings.

_November 14th_

_~~Hello, Journal. Do people actually greet their journals? Seems a bit silly~~_

_I’m a bit reluctant to start this whole journal thing, but the therapist has insisted it will help. Oddly, Douglas seems to agree with her. Not so oddly, Arthur was enthusiastic._

_I guess I’m supposed to write about my feelings or something like that. Well. I’m feeling frightened. I always am._

_If I was the therapist now, I’d probably ask “And how does that make you feel?” and when I explained it makes me feel like a coward I’d probably ask again how THAT made me feel, because therapists are just dying to know everything you’re feeling._

_But I do, I feel like a coward. Leaving the house is awful. I can’t get work. I’m useless._

_Glad we had this talk._

_*****_

_November 21st_

_I’m supposed to do this every day, apparently. Like I have nothing better to do with my time._

_Which I guess I don’t._

_Our session today wasn’t terrible, though. Well, it was, they’re always awful, but we found a few things out. Apparently I’m not the only one terrified of leaving the house. We meet up as often as possible, but other than that, all three of us are becoming very agoraphobic. We’re all having nightmares. We’re all constantly wondering where the others are and if they’re okay._

_I take back what I said, it was terrible._

_I can’t sleep anymore. Douglas and I spent another night at a hotel, and it was the only night I’d gotten a full 8 hours of sleep since the island. We can’t afford to keep doing that, though. The students from the shared house have agreed to pitch in with my rent if I come back, but Katelyn doesn’t think I’m ready to be on my own yet. I can’t leave without money, I can’t get a bloody cab without her consent. It’s like I’m a child again._

_Look at me, complaining that I can’t go anywhere while complaining how terrifying it is to leave the house._

_I suppose I really am going crazy._

_*****_

_November 30th_

_I’ve been spending more time at Carolyn’s. Arthur’s delighted. Spending time with him makes me feel a bit less afraid, I think._

_I haven’t seen Douglas in a while, though. We text and call, but when one of them is missing, I feel a little awful._

_But he’s with his daughters now, I’m sure he’s busy._

_*****_

_December 12th_

_The therapist says we need to be bold. She wants us to do one thing a week that terrifies us._

_I stepped out into the garden. Dogs were barking, people were chatting about Christmas decorations a few houses over, the occasional car drove by. All that was uncomfortable, but I’m getting used to it._

_I saw a contrail in the sky. I thought about it too much. Don’t think I’ll ever get to fly again._

_I hope that’s enough terror for her._

_*****_

_December 26th_

_Spent the day yesterday at Carolyn’s. She didn’t invite too many people – whether because she isn’t the most social woman or because she didn’t want things to be too crowded for us – and it was surprisingly lovely. Arthur and Douglas were there, as were Herc and Douglas’ daughters._

_We haven’t gotten to see a lot of each other lately, Douglas and I, but he made up for it. Pulled me aside where no one could see, smuggled in some mistletoe and pulled it out of his pocket. It was ridiculous, and it lasted for about 30 seconds before we had to go back out._

_I think he might have meant it when he told me he loved me._

_That’s terrifying. Wonderfully terrifying. I hope that counts as being “bold.”_

_*****_

_January 1st_

_Happy New Year, Journal. I won’t ask you how yours went, because you’re a book, but my New Year’s Eve was actually… fantastic. Of course, with the proper amounts of “terrifying.”_

_The terrifying bits were mostly from all the people who were at my sister’s house. Mostly familiar faces – Carolyn, Herc, Arthur, Douglas – but some other people I didn’t recognize. It was a proper party, and it was a bit overwhelming. But to be fair, I did tell Katelyn I could handle it._

_By the time midnight was drawing near, though, things got a bit too… exciting, and loud, and I had to step outside. Douglas followed me out to make sure I was alright, and confessed he had been overwhelmed himself. It got less scary and more fantastic after that, I think. He held my hand. People were counting down from 30 inside. I watched him lean in, and by the time we heard cheering and a chorus of “Auld Lang Syne” through the window, he was kissing me._

_I don’t know how long we’d been kissing, but I may have pushed him away when I heard the door open behind us. Carolyn saw. She’s saying nothing. I must say, I’m grateful for that._

_I was never one for New Years resolutions, but I think if I had to make one, it’d be to be in the air by next year. But as that doesn’t seem very likely… I’m just going to save myself the disappointment this time._

_But I’ll get there one day, Journal. I have to. I’ve worked too hard to give up._

_*****_

_January 20th_

_Douglas wants to tell people. Says he’s tired of tip-toeing around our relationship. He wants to take me on proper dates and show me off, apparently. Or maybe this relationship is just becoming too much effort…_

_I wouldn’t blame him if that was it. I’m tired of hiding too, if I’m honest, but the thought of everyone knowing is frightening. They all know what happened to us, and people make assumptions. They might figure out what happened on the island. They might think he’s only with me because of the trauma. Or maybe I think that…_

_I’m scared. But I can’t keep him waiting long, can I? He might get bored of me._

_*****_

_February 1st_

_Douglas says he’s almost done with his book. I’m proofreading some of it, and it’s really spectacular. Some of it is upsetting, being reminded of all those things… but it’s also cathartic in a way, you know?_

_He’s still asking me about coming out. I don’t know what to do._

_*****_

_February 14th_

_Douglas came by today, carrying a bouquet of flowers and not being the least bit subtle. Katelyn had been the one to open the door. She looked at me like she was so… concerned._

_After that, Douglas and I fought. It was horrible. I know I’m being unfair, but I panicked, and I didn’t appreciate him outing me like that. Katelyn tried talking to me after it, but I managed to avoid it._

_“What are you afraid of?” he’d said. This, this is what I’m afraid of. That concerned look in my family’s eyes, suggestions that we talk to our therapists before continuing a relationship, the implication that we’re clinging to each other because of some syndrome - the effect of being stuck together on an island for too long._

_I love him, and that makes me afraid. Because maybe that’s all I am for him: A coping mechanism. Maybe it’s all I ever was. And what’s going to happen when he doesn’t need me anymore?_

_*****_

_February 15th_

_He won’t answer my texts._

_I found the lighter in my coat pocket. It still won’t light. The fire’s gone. Maybe that’s symbolic._

_The hat he gave me has been sitting on the dresser, but I can't look at it._

_God, what have I done…?_

_*****_

_February 20th_

_I had a session today with the therapist. I told her everything. Surprisingly, she thinks we’ll be good for each other, which I suppose makes me relieved in some way. Unsurprisingly, she wants me to discuss my feelings with Douglas._

_If he doesn’t already hate me, that is._

_*****_

_February 22nd_

_I told Katelyn. Well, she already knew, but I confirmed it for her. She said she was happy for me, but I can’t tell how genuine it was._

_I then told my mother, and – God help me – Simon. Mum seemed happy, told me I should bring him over sometime for her to meet (to which my response was something like “No, Mum, you’ve already met him. You know, the bloke I was stuck on an island with for three months. No, the older one. Yes, the one old enough to be my father. I’m aware.”). Simon seemed to be holding back a tease or two, but I saw that smug smile hiding beneath his stupid mustache._

_I then told Arthur, who seemed absolutely thrilled._

_I suppose I can now say I’ve done something bold today._

_Now I just need to talk to Douglas. If he wants to talk at all anymore._

_*****_

_February 24th_

_I went to see him at his ex’s place. He said Arthur told him, and I guess that softened him a bit. “If you were willing to tell Arthur, you were willing to tell anyone,” he’d said. “Anything that goes through Arthur will be heard by anyone within a five mile radius.”_

_I apologized, told him about my feelings like the therapist had said. He seemed surprised by my reasoning, and I thought he’d get mad for a moment. But he didn’t. He pulled me into his arms and reassured me. I kissed him._

_Now he’s talking about moving in together. After we both start getting an income again, that is. I told him about the students holding my room for me, and while he didn’t seem too keen on that idea, he said he’d consider. He had a retirement fund saved up, though, and… Christ, listen to me. Listen to this. We talked about moving in together. My mind is whirling._

_*****_

_March 25th_

_Finally got Icarus Removals back up and running._

_The attic is a bit more crowded with two people in it, but I don’t think either of us can say we mind. It’s lovely to have someone to come home to. And half the time, Arthur is there visiting when I get back from a job._

_Our income is small, but we’ve lived on less._

_Douglas’ book is at the editor’s._

_*****_

_July 25th_

_I reapplied for my CPL. I was denied._

_I can’t say I’m surprised…_

_*****_

_August 25th_

_It’s odd living with a published author. The book is doing very well so far, and next month the bookstore nearby is asking for Douglas to make an appearance and do some book signing. If there was anything that could make him more smug, it would be having someone ask for his autograph._

_He’s talking about finding a new place, now that he has some income of his own. We’re going flat-searching next week._

_I’m still reapplying for my CPL._

_*****_

_September 23rd_

_We moved in. The van really came in handy, I must say._

_Then of course, once the last box was unloaded, Douglas had to make some comment about watching his mover lift boxes and giving him an extra tip, before he kissed me, and, well… Some things are too private even for a journal, you understand._

_On a slightly related note, our new mattress is far more comfortable than my old futon._

_*****_

_September 25th_

_Denied. Again._

_I forgot how painful this was._

_*****_

_October 25th_

_Denied._

_Arthur came by to carve pumpkins. It didn’t help to distract me much._

_*****_

_November 25th_

_Denied._

_*****_

_December 25th_

_Happy Christmas, Journal. Douglas and I spent the morning together, and it was lovely. I may have burnt breakfast a bit, but most of it was edible, I like to think._

_Douglas got me a new plane sim (“Until you’re back in the real thing,” he’d said), but I don’t know if it’d help or hurt me right now. Still, it was sweet. Much better than the silly watch I got him, I think._

_We then spent the day with Arthur and the rest at Carolyn’s place again. It wasn’t as frightening, being in a room full of people. This time last year, I would have had a panic attack, probably. But I’m not afraid anymore – Not with everyone I love there, not with Douglas’ reassuring arm around me._

_I might not get back in the air yet, but for now, things are alright on the ground._

_*****_

_December 31st_

_I got a letter in the post._

_I got my CPL._

=======================================

“Douglas?”

Martin removed his jacket and hat as he entered the flat, draping them over his arm. Douglas was not far away; The younger man had barely entered the living room before he was enveloped in an embrace and kissed.

“Welcome home, Love.”

“… Well.” Martin blinked up at his partner, grinning. “You’d think I just returned home from war.”

“Feels a bit like it,” Douglas muttered, peppering kisses over the ginger man’s speckled face.

“I was gone two days.”

“An absolutely unacceptable amount of time, in my opinion. At the very least, your work should be sending you places with adequate cell phone reception.”

Martin chuckled as his neck was kissed. “You’re being awfully affectionate tonight.”

“Something wrong with that?”

Martin pulled away, raising a skeptical eyebrow at his partner. “Did you do something?”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re acting very suspicious…”

“By _kissing_ you? I can’t miss my partner when he’s away?”

“Douglas, you’ve been cooking, I can smell it.”

“Is that so odd? I cook for you all the ti—“ The older man had taken Martin’s jacket and hat from him, moving to hang them up on their respective hooks before he froze. His eyes widened as he lifted the pilot’s sleeve. “… Martin…”

Martin’s smile spread into a grin as he watched realization dawn on Douglas’ face. “Yes?”

“Martin!” Douglas finally noticed the gold braid on the cap he was holding.

Before Martin could make further comment, he was being hoisted up into a tight embrace. A giddy laugh escaped him.

“You’ve not been working there five years! How did you…?” Douglas set him down, and Martin seemed to swell with pride at the look of sheer wonderment on his boyfriend’s face.

“Well, a combination of my scores from when I started, recommendations, and—“ Martin leaned up for a quick kiss. “My boss has read your book. All those nice things you said about me… He said I’ve proven myself enough.”

“You might’ve told me sooner, I would have prepared something a bit more gourmet for dinner!”

“Yes, about that…” Martin stepped closer, smirking.

“Oh…?”

“I wonder if perhaps whatever you’re making would still taste just as good… reheated later?”

The ex-first officer returned his smirk. “Something you have planned, Darling…?”

“Celebrating.” Douglas was pulled down for a long kiss, just as slow and passionate as Martin would have kissed him almost seven years ago. The passion in their relationship wasn’t quite as fiery as it had been at the start, but it didn’t really fade, either. It simply mellowed; a slow burning ember that he hoped would remain glowing until the end of his days.

Reluctantly, the older man broke the kiss with a hum. “Much as I’m tempted, perhaps dinner should come first. I have some news of my own to share.”

“News?” Martin raised an eyebrow. “Good news?”

“I’d say so, yes.” Douglas broke their embrace to make his way back to the kitchen. Martin followed.

“What sort of good news? Douglas?”

“I was going to wait until after dinner to tell you—“

“Oh, you can’t just leave it at that!”

“Alright, you’ve twisted my arm!” Douglas paused in his task of stirring sauce to face Martin. “You remember how they were thinking of selling the rights to another publisher?”

Martin’s face lit up. “They found a buyer?”

“Yes, and they were very eager.”

“Well?” The captain nudged his partner excitedly. “How much!?”

“Well, if I agree to write a couple more books – Which I was thinking of doing anyway – I should get a generous 50% of the selling price, plus between 30-40% of book sales—“

“Enough math! How much!?”

“I’ll be no Bill Gates, mind you, but—“

“Douglas!”

The former first officer shrugged nonchalantly. “I have a cheque coming for about, oh… Four million.”

Silence.

“F-F-Four million…”

“Yes.”

“… Pounds?”

“No, cheese danishes.”

“Four million pounds…” Martin muttered. Douglas stepped forward, looking suddenly concerned.

“Martin, you’re looking a bit pale—Whoa whoa whoa!” He caught the captain in his arms, holding him up as his knees began to buckle. “Easy, easy—Let me get you a chair.”

“Douglas… Four million…!”

“Yes, I know.” A grin split the older man’s face as he sat his partner down in the nearest chair, kneeling down by him. “And there’s more!”

Martin blinked owlishly at him. “More?”

“Well, I meant to wait after dinner for this also, but... I know funds had been tight for a while with all the debt we’re paying off, but with the extra cash flow, I was able to get you something…”

The captain looked positively shell-shocked as he watched Douglas fish into his pocket.

“Martin Crieff.” The former FO looked up at his partner, whose eyes stared at the ring in his hand as if Douglas had just offered him the keys to his own Gulfstream. “Or rather, _Captain_ Martin Crieff.”

“Oh my god.” Martin was suddenly on his feet.

“I know we’ve been through hell together, but if you'd let me, I'd like to—Whoa whoa whoa!”

He didn’t stay on his feet long.


End file.
